Fealty
by Penguin-sama
Summary: Yaoi. "If you do not take care, you may find that one day blood has fully overtaken both your heart and your soul...but it isn't hopeless, I think. There seems to be someone willing to watch over them for you, if you will let him."
1. Prologue: Shadowed Prelude

To those who know me from earlier fics: Hi! I missed you! It's been too long! To those who've never even heard of me before: Hi! Thanks for taking the time to give me a read – I hope I can entice you into sticking around!

This fic is set during the regular series, about middle point in the post-Taketori time period of the anime. This prologue has less to do with the plot than with the need to set up a part of the plot. I hope you enjoy it, anyway. As always, my writings usually tend to be very relationship-centric, but there is a definite plot this time - and not just one that shows up in the last three chapters. (I hope.) Fic idea came from a number of sources: reading "Universe" by Jade Cade made me start thinking about the characters again (I hope this prologue doesn't sound too close, but your oneshot did inspire me, so don't get mad!) re-watching the series and noting the change in Aya's character between the two arcs, and then realizing how very influential a certain character from a certain other series can be, and how changing one little thing could have completely change the course of the rest of the series.

Warnings: Yaoi. Strong language. Eventual violence. Possible eventual crossover. Weiss Kreuz and all associated characters and storylines do not belong to me.

Prologue: Shadowed Prelude

* * *

The room was dark, and silent but for the occasional _click, click_ of an unresponsive lighter, and the soft, sated breathing of its two occupants. It was as if a spell had been cast, transforming the quiet space into a world in and of itself – a world that was fragile, and temporary, and unreal.

_Click, click._

_Click, click._

Fragile…and temporary…and unreal.

He liked that.

_Click, click._

_Click, click._

"You might as well give that up. I'm not going to let you light one, anyway."

He found himself grinning in the darkness. His companion's voice was soft and tired, and even a little amused, and he found that he liked that, too. It had been a long time since he had heard anything but blood and steel in that voice.

"International law, sweetheart," he answered with a quiet chuckle. "Great sex must always be followed by a good smoke."

_Click, click_.

"That's the law?" the mattress shifted beside him as the other body turned toward him.

_Click, click._

_Spark_.

For just a moment, the light flared. For just a moment, he could see those eyes – dark, and warm, and liquid.

"And do you consider our recent activities to count as…'great sex'?" that voice asked quietly.

"Baby, that was so great that if I _didn't_ have a cig, they'd be sending goons after me to confiscate my balls."

"How charming."

_Click, click._

_Click, click._

"Ah, well," Yohji sighed, giving it up as lost as the lighter refused to offer up a sufficient flame. "Serves me right for buying such a cheap one, I guess."

"And your balls?"

"Guess I'll have to take the risk."

A smoke would have been amazing right now, though. Damn near perfect.

He reached for the warm body beside him, and for a wonder, the lithe, supple form came into his arms easily, even willingly. Even now, no longer riding the waves of sex-charged emotions that had overtaken his mind only a short while ago, the man's skin was the softest he had ever touched.

"You should feel lucky, you know," he said, relishing in the feel of that skin beneath his hands.

"That's hardly a word I would choose."

"Oh, but you _are_ lucky," he nuzzled that soft, warm neck, breathing in deeply of the scent of roses that seemed to always cling to the man in his arms. He wondered if either of them had the energy for another romp. "I don't let just _anyone_ lure me into their beds."

"And by 'not just anyone', you mean 'almost everyone'. And this is _your_ bed."

He laughed, and wondered how a request for another romp would be received.

"Well, in all fairness, talents like mine shouldn't be wasted."

"Talents. Yes."

His grin widened.

"We all have our gifts," he mumbled lazily, "And it would be downright selfish of me not to use mine when I see where they would benefit someone…though I never thought I'd get the opportunity to help _you_."

"You've certainly offered often enough."

"Well, of course. I take my responsibility to the world very seriously, you know. I mean, when you get right down to it, I'm just a kind-hearted humanitarian – not that I consider you _charity_, mind."

"No." abruptly, all softness fled that voice. It was suddenly steel again, a blade drawn in the night. "It _is_ charity, so don't forget it."

"Aya…"

"I don't want you getting confused, Kudoh," jabbing him in the ribs, the smaller man scrambled from the bed. "I didn't come to you because I suddenly had some great awakening. I didn't let you fuck me because I cared about you."

"Well, I didn't say you did," Yohji said, feeling lost. Was he supposed to defend some mythical emotion, as most lovers seemed to expect, or did the man really want to be reassured that he was nothing more than a good time?

Aya flicked on one of the table lamps and began to gather up his discarded clothing, ignoring Yohji as if he had ceased to exist.

Aya Fujimiya had always been a difficult man to get along with, but until recent months, that had all been a part of his charm. From the day he had met the small, unfriendly man, Yohji Kudoh had taken perverse joy out of finding ways to get under his skin.

The man was just so damned blank most of the time – he was practically begging for Yohji to pick on him.

That had been before though.

Before the death of Reiji Taketori.

Before the kidnapping of the _real_ Aya Fujimiya.

Yohji was of the personal opinion that Aya would have changed even if his sister _hadn't_ gone missing. Yohji had seen his eyes the day after he had killed Taketori.

The day he had realized that revenge did not magically fix his life.

But losing his purpose was nothing compared to losing his sister. The Aya who had so reluctantly made his return to Weiss was a different man entirely than the one who had left it.

The old Aya had been quiet and motivated, but not silent, and never cruel. He'd been socially awkward, a little rude, but never deliberately harsh. His eyes had been filled with pain, whereas now there was nothing in them but death.

Yohji wondered if it had been their most recent mission that had caused the man to come to him, or if he had been on the verge of breaking already. According to Omi, he'd just recently rejected the affections of the cute and infatuated Sakura – and while Yohji seriously doubted someone like Aya would have any _romantic_ inclination towards an underage minor who was nearly a mirror double to his sister, he _had_ always felt that the man depended on her friendship.

She had picked the worst of times to decide to have a crush. With the real Aya-chan beyond his grasp, rejecting her substitute must have been truly difficult.

Aya had come to Yohji like a drowning man, and the blonde, although not usually the most insightful of men, had understood his motivation without the need for a single word.

Hungry hands and desperate kisses – that was a language Yohji spoke fluently. Aya had been insistent, almost brutal, in his demands, and Yohji, far from undamaged himself, had loved every minute of it. Aya had given him dominance, but that didn't mean he'd been some meek little lamb, and Yohji had loved that, too. Aya had been demanding, harsh, desperate, and Yohji was sure that he's be wearing the marks of the man's passion for weeks to come.

All in all, it had been the single most satisfying sexual experience Yohji's had the privilege to enjoy in a very long time.

Yohji used the advantage of having the light on to roll toward the nightstand and rummage through the drawer for a fresh lighter.

"What?" he asked, clutching a cigarette between his teeth. "You're pissed because I said you _weren't_ a charity case? I'll have you know, I've been after _your_ ass since day one."

A quiet yet rude grunt was his only response. Apparently, whatever lethargy sex had brought him had already worn off, for Aya was once again the cold, violent, dead-eyed creature he'd been since the day he had rejoined the Weiss.

Rolling his eyes, Yohji finally found a new, and much better-working lighter, and didn't waste any time in putting it to use.

"Well," he sighed, exhaling and taking comfort from the tobacco now filling his lungs, "Just so you know, the next time you find the pressure building and think you can come to _me_ for relief…"

"I should remember that you aren't a whore and try to have more respect for your feelings?" he demanded, cold and impatient.

"Hell no! Will you stop putting words in my mouth?" Yohji grinned at the obvious surprise that overtook the stony look on the redhead's face.

Aya closed his eyes, making a very obvious effort to calm a temper that had become increasingly short since his sister's kidnapping.

"What, then?" he demanded at last. Though he'd been trying to dress himself, he'd only gotten so far as his briefs and his jeans, the latter of which weren't even zipped yet. He held his shirt clutched in both hands.

Yohji licked his lips, unconcerned with the fact his thoughts were probably showing on his face.

"What I was going to say," he drawled at last, "Is that the next time you feel the need for a little…release…my door is always open."

The small, fierce leader of Weiss stared at him, expression unreadable. Yohji inhaled deeply, then reached his long arm to casually flick ash into the tray near the lamp. He let his eyes travel Aya's body once more, let his mind remember the way the smaller man had _felt_, and made sure Aya could read his expression very clearly.

"I gotta get it from somewhere," he said at last, "And you've never approved of my wild ways, anyway. But _you_ need a release for all this pain and fury you've been carrying around, and _I'm_ still interested in your body. Way I see it, we both win."

"Kudoh…"

"Don't get me wrong. A relationship is the _last_ thing I need – but you aren't some stupid bar skank that thinks she can have one drunken night turn into the arrival of Prince Charming. We _both_ know what this is about, so there won't be any misunderstandings. What can I say? I'm your man, baby."

Aya continued to stare at him for a long moment. A cold, unreadable, potentially violent moment.

Then a small, dangerous smile turned up the corner of his mouth. Eyes dark, dangerous, and beautiful, he threw his shirt back to the floor, and Yohji laughed as he welcomed him back into bed.

* * *

tbc

So there's the prologue, plot to come later (then what's the point in even _having_ a prologue? Shhh! It makes me happy, okay?). Hopefully we can see this as a relationship distinctly different from the Bridges fics. Those who are not fans of this pairing, while I appreciate your input, you will not be able to convince me that there's not _something_ between these two.

I look forward to your thoughts. I answer all reviews, even if I have nothing more to say than a simple "thanks for reading." Chapter one to come soon.

And here's my attempt at a vague teaser- in the first chapter: Wickedness sulks, the Planner worries, and an Arrow jumps to conclusions.

Hope to see you soon.


	2. Chapter 1: Aims of the Agressor

Big thanks to everyone who read the prologue. Bigger thanks to everyone who reviewed.

Chapter One: Aims of the Aggressor

Warnings: This fic contains yaoi, strong language, violence, and a possible eventual crossover. Weiss Kreuz and all associated characters do not belong to me. That's what my therapist says, anyway…(but I think she's lying.)

(Z)

"So, you see it, then?"

Long, spider-like fingers danced against the cover of the report, tracing the title lettering as if caressing the planes of a lover's face. A small smile pulled at a mouth better suited to stern frowns.

"Yes, I believe I do."

"They're going to be fucking _thrilled_, aren't they?"

He laughed, and the sound was strange to his ears. He was always startled when forced into such an unusual and, for him, unnatural action.

"You should be thrilled, too, Schuldig."

"Yeah?" unconcerned as always with what anyone else would consider the proper rules of decorum, the flame haired young man hopped up onto the corner of his desk, crossing his legs as he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Well," he drawled. "Why don't you spell it out for me, then, _vater_?"

"What have I told you about thinking for yourself?" he scolded.

"It hurts when I try," the telepath waved his hand dismissively. "Much more pleasant for the both of us if I let you tell me what to think."

All pretense, of course. With his wild, fierce beauty and his penchant for high fashion and fine wines, it was all too easy for some fools to assume the playful telepath was as empty-headed as he appeared. Even people who knew of the man's talent made the mistake of forgetting that it applied to them, and Schuldig never missed an opportunity to take advantage of anyone.

Even Crawford himself could never be sure which it was – if Schuldig read others' perceptions of him and sought to fulfill them to purposefully lull them into underestimating him, or if he had formed the image himself because he knew that no one ever suspected a brainless bimbo of anything harsher than greed.

The _why_ didn't matter, though. Crawford hadn't chosen the men of his team because of the motivations behind their development. It didn't matter to him _how_ they'd gotten the way they were, just that they _were_.

And what Schuldig was was a devious, wicked-minded master of manipulation. He wasn't afraid to ask questions, to make mistakes, to allow himself to appear a fool, because Schuldig had the ability that many adults seemed to lose when they decided that they had become strong.

Schuldig could still _learn_.

"They're going to push their plans," Crawford informed him, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Schuldig's face was one of the most difficult to read he had ever encountered, but it was fun to watch. His eyes were always active, although he guarded his thoughts jealously.

"Yeah, I figured that out on my own," he said impatiently. He arched his body backwards so that the ends of his long, fiery hair trailed the top of the desk.

Crawford reached out and tugged on that hair.

"They have everything they need now, and will see their good fortune as proof of destiny. Corners will be cut. They'll get…sloppy."

"Hm. I like sloppy…"

"And the sooner they force their plans, the sooner _we_ can move on with our own," he finished.

"I see!" Schuldig laid back completely atop the desk, head resting on the report book, hair splayed artfully. He smiled up at Crawford, and only a fool would fail to see the pure, wicked danger in that expression. "And the more under-prepared _they_ are, the more fun _we_ get to have, right?"

"Good boy."

"…I think I like this."

"What a surprise – after you spent all morning whining about it," he stated dryly.

"Tch," Schuldig scowled and sat up again, turning so that he was sitting cross-legged atop the desk facing Crawford. "I _wasn't_ whining. I was just…expressing my displeasure – I don't like it when things go _their_ way, that's all."

"You don't like it when things go _anyone's_ way if it doesn't directly benefit you," he stated.

The other assassin grinned broadly and tossed his head, utterly un-offended.

"Such," he said, "Is merely the privilege of the spoiled!"

Crawford observed him in silence for a moment, fighting amusement. Smiling at that would only encourage him.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "That now you are going to pretend you didn't fight me for a week when I asked you to persuade Schrient to run those tests?"

"No. If I had it all to do over again, I would _still_ fight you!" he said, tossing his head defiantly. "I hate those bitches. Did you know that not a single one of them is even the slightest bit attracted to me?"

"Horror of horrors."

"They're no fun to play with _at all_. We would have been better off taking the girl ourselves!"

_That_ did earn a small chuckle from Crawford, until he realized that the telepath had been completely serious.

"I explained this to you as well," he said at last, losing his amusement entirely. He'd thought the flame haired man would have gotten over this by now. Choosing to 'hire' Schrient to kidnap Aya Fujimiya from her hospital bed had been a sore point for Schuldig ever since Crawford had decided on it, and it was one of the dew things in the course of their association that had caused the telepath to openly question his team leader.

Crawford always took great care with his people. He had learned early on that fighting amidst the ranks in a team could spell doom – and having an unscrupulous telepath angry at him was neither safe nor enjoyable.

Fortunately, mention of the disagreement failed to recall the flame haired young man to the door-slamming, knife-throwing, nightmare-inspiring fury which had overtaken him in the immediate weeks after Crawford had made the decision.

Instead, Schuldig merely crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip, sulking.

"I could have had so much _fun_!" he complained.

"And while you had your fun," Crawford said slowly, softly, "Weiss would have rallied, tracked us down, and destroyed _everything_." His visions concerning this had been inflexible. Had Schwarz, and not Schrient, taken the girl, all of Weiss' attention would have focused instead on the small shadow team of Esset Talents, and that attention would, in turn, earn even more uncomfortably close scrutiny from their overlords.

"Schuldig," Crawford uncrossed his own arms. "Would you really be willing to trade your freedom just for the chance to have playtime with a white kitten or two?"

Schuldig, rather than answer, simply looked away from him and continued to sulk, and though Crawford himself had never had any ability in the area of mind reading, he was suddenly completely and utterly certain that yes, Schuldig would, indeed, be willing to trade it.

"You indulgent little _fool_!" he breathed, a sudden, unexplained fear – a fear that hushed through his mind like an icy wind, and looked and tasted like portent – gripping him. "I will not always be able or willing to babysit you, Schuldig! You cannot depend on me to hold you back from doing something stupid!"

"Does this mean you don't want to be my daddy anymore?"

Those bright eyes, like jade stones sunk under a deep ocean, blinked at him in sheer mockery of the innocence they pretended to, and Crawford felt a flash of anger. His hand lashed out and he caught hold of that fiery red hair, pulling the telepath roughly toward him.

He could See his own death in those eyes.

"Schuldig," he said, keeping his voice slow, soft, and deliberate. "You must learn to pause and _think_. If you cannot bring yourself to plan for the future, then I guarantee there won't be a future waiting for you."

Those eyes widened as, in an unusual display of understanding, Schuldig seemed to sense that his leader was no longer lecturing –

But warning.

An embarrassed cough from the doorway broke the silent, tense spell between them.

"Ah. Hollister," Crawford turned his eyes from the childish telepath to the smiling blonde man Nagi had silently led in. "I've been expecting you."

"_Arrow_?" Schuldig scowled, giving the man a decidedly unfriendly look over his shoulder. "Don't tell me you're playing with _this_ trash again, Braddy-boy, please. For the love of - !"

"Play nice, Schuldig, or I'll send you to take Farfarello on his walk alone," he threatened coolly. He rose, crossing the room, and Hollister accepted his handshake warmly.

"Is it strange that I'm surprised you knew they would send me?" the blonde man asked with a quiet chuckle.

"Only stupid," Schuldig grumbled.

Aaron Hollister, codename Arrow, was one of the only – if not _the_ only – people in the world who Brad Crawford actually considered himself fond of. They had been roommates back in the Esset Talent training school, Rozencruz, and had spent most of their training as partners. Hollister's nearly white-blonde hair and pale blue eyes made him a very tidy visual contrast to Crawford, and their keepers, pleased with the picture they made, kept them together.

They had been on their first team together, a five-man group based out of Germany and given the responsibility of supporting and concealing the activities of a few of the organization's pet projects. They had been a good team and had a high success rate, until their strategist had died suddenly during a mission and they had begun to fall apart.

In-team quarrelling had begun to compromise their missions, until one day Esset finally decided to step in and disband them, sending all surviving members far away from each other.

Crawford had tried, for a short while, to get Hollister when he's been given charge over his own team, but it had soon become apparent that he would have to give that dream up. Schuldig, who Crawford had hand picked even before the reality of heading a team had been more than a vision, had been given 'special training' by Hollister several years before and had never forgiven the man for the lessons he had been forced to learn.

Crawford's visions, in one of their rare instances of absolute clarity, had insisted that Crawford choose one over the other – he could not keep both and succeed.

And Schuldig's particular devious mind, combined with his Talent, had made him an asset.

Crawford rarely regretted his decision.

He was, however, happy to see Hollister again.

"Your timing couldn't be better," Crawford informed him, giving Schuldig a look of warning. "We've just received the report this morning."

"And I suppose I also shouldn't be surprised at the now-obvious fact that you called Esset long before the research was even finished." Hollister chuckled.

"With something of this magnitude, I knew that time was of the essence."

Crawford returned to his desk and began to sit.

"Magnitude for you?" Hollister asked softly, "Or for our employers?"

Crawford paused, staring at his friend.

"Are you asking in an official capacity?"

"No."

"Then the answer is both." Crawford sat.

Schuldig jerked, shooting him an affronted look, which he ignored. Hollister had known of his dreams of freedom when the plans has been as simple as _find and control a team_.

Even then, he wouldn't have spoken so freely had he not known through his visions that Hollister would not betray him.

Giving the telepath another look of warning, he slid the report out from under the flame haired man's backside and passed it to Hollister, who began to flip through it as he took his own seat. It wasn't long before he looked up in surprise.

"So the apparent lack of aging is _molecular?_"

"We've been telling you fools for months!" Schuldig grumbled, propping his elbows on his knees and holding his face in his hands. "Tch. As if we would even _bother_ if we weren't _sure_."

"Nagi," the boy was still standing in the doorway. He was always overly formal when there were guests in the house, and Crawford hadn't told him he could leave yet. "Take Schuldig out of here."

"But Brad!"

The telepath's whiny protest became an angry stream of curses as he suddenly found himself floating upside-down out of the room. Nagi gave only the smallest of smiles before he, too, left, closing the door after himself.

"The little one has gotten strong," Hollister said, turning his pale eyes back to the report. "Seems like only yesterday they were debating sending him to the Sleep."

"I knew he would develop more sleep…and unlike our fair masters, I was willing to wait for him to do it on his own time."

"You have a talent for choosing Talents, Crawford. Your guilty one managed to give me a headache trying to penetrate my shields. He's never managed to do that before."

"I'll be sure to have a talk with him later about his behavior."

"Don't concern yourself," Hollister smiled. :If he can use his hatred for me to push his powers, then I'm happy enough to be of use. Crawford, this report is _fantastic_."

A rare smile crossed the precog's face as his friend looked up.

"I thought you might say something like that."

"With this body, the elders can move the ceremony forward and…!" Hollister stopped, frowning. "Crawford, your plans…your grand scheme to gain freedom from Esset…"

The lie fell easily from his lips.

"My plans have nothing to do with the Ceremony, I assure you."

He watched him suspiciously for a moment before reluctantly nodding.

"I'll believe you on the basis of the friendship we share."

"You have my thanks."

"You have every right to your freedom, Bradley, and to freedom for your team. I've always believed that Esset should never hold onto those who are unwilling to be held – but if you ruined this…if you used this to hurt our beloved Elders…I would kill you."

"Aaron…"

"You would cripple Esset, perhaps beyond repair," he said, voice firm. "And forever earn for yourself the fury of all those to whom Esset is the only home they have found in this world."

"I understand what you are saying, Aaron."

They were silent for several long moments, Hollister turning his attention to the report once more.

"This girl is truly amazing, and not simply for her use to our Elders," he said at last.

"You think you can make use of her – beyond the obvious?"

"It would require further testing, of course, but…" Hollister stopped, looking up. His grin was sudden and unexpected. "But she isn't necessarily our only test subject!"

"If you mean the brother, I'm afraid I must advise you otherwise. Krittiker has had their claws in him for far too long."

Hollister's grin began to falter, then abruptly reappeared.

"And the rest of the family is deceased," Crawford added.

"When has death been a barrier to Esset?" the other man asked with a laugh. "Death, _or_…well, I think you see where I'm going."

"You would need a very powerful Seer to use _Kontroller_, and my powers don't work that way."

"But apparently they've developed into telepathy!" he chuckled. "You've always known my mind far too well."

"_Kontroller_ is a vile and dangerous bitch of a machine!" Crawford spat. "The last time someone tried to use it, they changed history forever – and through it, the present!"

"It wasn't…all that bad."

"How is the Black Plague _not all that bad_?"

"Crawford, you're too funny!" he sighed, rising. "Esset shielded her children from the Shift, and our world will be changing drastically after the Ceremony, anyway. As long as we're careful, and work slowly, we should be able to avoid disaster."

"Hollister!"

"I'll be in contact!"

"Hollister!" he rose quickly, intent on following his friend and tackling him, if that's what it took to get his way, and cried out as a sudden, overwhelming vision sent him doubling over in pain.

One of his first actions as leader of Schwarz had been to guide Schuldig in forming strong psychic tied among the four of them. As the vision's last images began to fade away, he rested his head atop the desk and opened his link to his team as far as it would go.

It seemed hours, though logic told him it was only minutes, before he felt cool, strong hands on his head, long fingers against his scalp. A soft, psychic breeze drifted gently through his mind, and although Schuldig had never been given any training in healing, nor betrayed any desire to learn, the pain of the headaches the visions always caused began to ease.

Delicately, almost tenderly, the telepath began to pluck the images from his mind, distributing them quickly and efficiently to the other two Schwarz, and without having to lift his head, Crawford knew that all three were in the room with him.

Farfarello was a small bundle of confusing thoughts and random urges. He was having one of his 'good' days, else Schuldig wouldn't have risked allowing him into the connection. Crawford felt him spike in pleasure at the thought of _Kontroller_, though he kept his thoughts, whatever they were, to himself.

_I volunteer to tip off Krittiker_, Nagi offered, silent and serious. _I can leave an anonymous note in their system_.

_Forget it_, Schuldig argued. _It will have to be done personally or else they'll expect a trap. And they'll need access to Kontroller, won't they? How're we gonna do that?_

"How else?" Crawford asked out loud. The connection allowed the entire team to speak mind-to-mind, but the effort it still took would hurt in his current state. "We'll use Weiss." He tilted his head back in pleasure as Schuldig continued to massage his skull. "If they 'accidentally' discover _Kontroller_ and Esset's plans…and they 'happen' to find evidence linking those plans to the Fujimiya girl…"

_They won't be able to stay away._

Crawford shivered, and felt Nagi and Farfarello do the same, as the telepath's wicked glee shot through them. Before any of them could share anything more of his thoughts, though, the telepath abruptly blocked the connection.

"Don't worry, Braddy-boy," he said out loud, voice cheerful, "Your Schu-schu is gonna take care of _everything._"

(Z)

tbc

Thanks so much for reading!

Preview of chapter two: "I was getting sick of having to pull them off each other…"


	3. Chapter 2: Green and Fresh

Beginning next week I _may_ be moving updates from Mondays to Fridays. Just a heads up.

This is a fun little chapter - in addition to setting up some important things (well, it's a set-up for a set-up), it also gives a first (important) glimpse into the current interaction of the team. It also sets the timeline (a few eps after ch. 1 would have taken place. If you have specific questions about the timeline, don't be afraid to ask! Sometimes I fail to make things clear.)

Chapter Two:

Green and Fresh

* * *

The sun was bright, finding and shining off each and every drop of water that might cling, picturesque, to a brightly colored leaf or petal in the shop display. Even when money got tight, high quality wares were a priority for the small shop, and the effect of that insistence on perfection was a habitually fragrant, idyllic, fantasy-like atmosphere of beauty and color.

Of course, the good looks of the shop's four employees did little to detract from that effect. A comment card they had once received from a furiously blushing middle school girl claimed that visiting the small flower shop was like "becoming a princess, surrounded by princes."

"Princes of death," Aya had stated quietly after she had gone, ruining the laughter of his coworkers as he tore the card in half and tossed it in the waste basket.

The girls at school, when they didn't know that he could hear them, often laughed behind their hands about the shop owner, a little old lady who "must still feel pretty frisky if she only wants to hire pretty boys!"

At least they usually had the grace to look embarrassed when Omi looked over and caught them.

Omi had to admit, at least to himself, that their opinions were probably _exactly_ what Krittiker had wanted when they had decided to station the men of Weiss at the small shop. Momoe-san was a sweet, harmless doll of a lady who just happened to have spent her youth working as a Krittiker agent during the war. Though she was retired now, she allowed her business to serve as a front for the operations of her former employers, and her home was gladly offered as a safe house whenever necessary.

The sweet old dear was thrilled to play the part of a feisty shop owner not above appreciating a little eye candy if it meant she could sit out in the sun at her beloved shop, surrounded by warmth and happy people.

And four young, attractive men in a flower shop were the least likely suspects for assassins. Even after Reiji Taketori had tacked their pictures up all over the city, accused them of terrorism, and sent men to attack the shop, they had still been able to return after his death simply because Krittiker _had_ chosen their cover so well.

Omi understood. He appreciated the protection his fake job offered against his real one. And most of the time, it really wasn't all that bad. High school girls were clingy and transparent and shameless, but he could endure it, even find a little amusement in it.

But the adult women, the professional, put-together, _responsible_ adult women who really should know better, _they_ were the ones who really made him hate the flower shop some days.

"Um…Yohji?" he called, and a touch of desperation managing to find its way into his voice. The two business women he'd been helping had somehow managed to corner him. For a moment, he actually considered screaming, but knowing his luck, rather than scare them off, they would probably just find it cute.

In any case, the shop was crowded with some of Omi's schoolmates. There were enough awkward rumors circulating about him because of his job as a florist and the fact he lived alone with three other men. He didn't need to add "cries like a girl when you pinch his buttcheeks" to the list.

"Yotan, can you come help me _please_?" Yohji was always good at dealing with the scary grown-up ladies. He didn't mind it, either, as it often got him a date or two. "_Yotan!_"

"He's out making deliveries," Ken informed him from the register. Safe in his position behind the counter and currently free of customers of his own, the athlete was flipping lazily through a magazine, content to let his teammate suffer.

"I don't want anyone's help but yours!" one of the ladies informed Omi with a pout. She was tall enough in her heels, and standing close enough to him, that the young assassin was finding that he had to take care about how he moved his head, lest he wind up with a face full of bosom.

"I'm only part-time help, though, since I'm still in school, see?" he gave a nervous chuckle, hoping that mention of school would reinforce for the ladies that he was underage. "I really don't know as much as any of the others. Maybe my friend Aya could…"

He stopped himself as he caught sight of said "friend," standing only meters away watering a display and utterly ignoring the abuse his youngest teammate was being forced to endure.

Aya would be no help. He wasn't allowed to talk to customers anymore after he had nearly "accidentally" stabbed one with a pair of gardening shears, anyway.

"We don't mind if you're…inexperienced," the other lady laughed.

"Oh dear…"

Half an hour, four boob-brushes, and several inappropriate gropings later, the young man heaved a sigh of relief as he at last saw his customers away with a fern, an arrangement of azaleas, and the silent, heartfelt wish that they would never return.

"Hey! I know that Look!" Yohji Kudoh, arriving maddeningly too late, leaned the delivery scooter against a wall and pulled his sunglasses down low on his nose, peering at Omi over the rim. He gave a laugh, placing his hands on his hips. "_What_ have you been up to, Omi?"

Despite his best efforts, the younger assassin felt his face inflame at the suggestive note in the blonde's tone.

"Were you _really_ making deliveries all this time, Yotan?" he demanded instead of answering. "You know, if you're visiting women while you're still clocked in, then you're getting paid. Technically, that makes you a prostitute."

Yohji wouldn't be deterred.

"Did those nice ladies molest you, chibi? And I missed it! What a shame!"

"Yotan!"

"Be a sweet kid and put the bike up for me, will ya?"

"Yoh - !"

"I left the keys in it!" he waved, already disappearing into the shop.

For the second time that day, Omi felt like screaming.

Yohji really _had_ left the keys in the scooter, though, and Omi knew him well enough to know that the lanky blonde would not return to make sure it got put away. It could get stolen, for all Yohji cared – the man hated making deliveries in that thing.

Cursing each and every one of his teammates with every step, Omi reluctantly rolled the scooter into the garage in the back.

By the time he was finished, the after school crowd had at last begun to thin out. Ken was helping an old man at the register, and Aya was at the table, working on some last minute arrangement. Yohji, holding a broom but not actually bothering to _use_ it, was perched on the end of that table, talking to the man and receiving monosyllables or grunts in return for his efforts.

"So, what, they're friends again?" Ken asked, following his gaze, as the customer left the shop. Omi could only shrug.

It had been difficult for all of them, the decision to return to Weiss. More than that, though, there had been difficulty for each of them before their return for the simple fact that each and every one of them had lost the man on which their many pains had been to blame. With Taketori dead, each assassin had felt himself faced with some degree of emptiness – with their vengeance completed, what was there to fill their lives with?

If the thought of the man who had been his father caused him pain, Omi had long since stopped noticing it. Reiji Taketori had needed to be stopped, and any regrets were a pure waste of time. It was Aya and Yohji, he thought, who'd been hit the hardest by the completion of their vengeance. Both men had lived for their anger for so very long, after all.

Although Omi had no doubt that either man would balk at the thought, the truth was that, on some basic level, they were very similar.

It was Omi's opinion that it was that very core similarity that had caused the two to bond over recent months. They had taken to pairing up together during missions ever since Weiss had re-formed, and often Omi would walk into a room to find them alone and feel absolutely certain that he had interrupted some important conversation.

Ken had laughed the first time Omi had mentioned his theory to him. Weiss was a team, perhaps even a family, but not friends. Friendship…that was just taking things a little too far.

And Aya and Yohji, Ken had pointed out, were much too different to get along. If the men of Weiss were brothers, then the two oldest "siblings" were "a nerd and a horndog," Ken had chuckled. "We're lucky Kudoh's not locking Aya in closets and stealing his lunch money."

"Ayan would flay Yotan if he tried something like that," Omi had answered, hurt that the athlete would laugh at the idea that _any_ of them could be friends.

But Aya and Yohji had been mad at each other lately – either treating each other with the same coldness that had existed before the death of Taketori, or outright fighting. Omi had forced Ken to admit that it looked like they _were_ becoming friends, or, at least, _had been_, before Yohji had brought Neu home and Aya had nearly killed him for it.

"Yohji took killing Neu pretty hard," Omi mused, frowning. "I guess even Aya could forgive him for putting the team in danger after seeing how upset he was." Yohji certainly didn't look upset _now_, he thought, watching the man laugh at something Aya had grunted. A week ago he'd barely been willing to crawl out of bed, and now he seemed completely back to normal. "It's good if they want to be friends," he decided emphatically, having never agreed with Ken's assessment that Aya and Yohji were so very different. They were more like…alternate sides of the same coin – each distinctive and unique, but made out of the same stuff.

Ken snorted, turning his attention back to his sports magazine.

"As long as they've made up their minds this time," he muttered, clearly bored with the conversation. "I was getting sick of having to pull them off each other whenever they decided to go for the throat."

Ken's response wasn't much of a response at all – he was back in sportsland, and wouldn't allow anyone else to intrude.

"Omi!" Yohji called, waving him over to the table. Omi went, annoyed with Ken. "Omi, tell Aya what you told me earlier," Yohji requested.

"Huh?"

"You know," he rolled his eyes. "About making money while having a _good time_…"

"We are _not_ turning the shop into a pleasure house, Kudoh," Aya interrupted. For the first time in months, Omi heard a note of amusement enter the man's voice.

"All I'm saying is that we should _think_ about it."

"Yotan!" despite his best efforts, Omi laughed.

"What? The shop would be _really_ popular, then. I bet we'd sell more, too."

"I'm already exhausted," Aya stated dryly.

The jingle of the shop bell halted the discussion, and for just a moment, the three were silent and motionless, waiting for Ken to come out from behind the counter to greet the woman who had entered.

The athlete, however, refused to relinquish his position.

"Do we have more of the number four ribbon?" Aya asked at last, as if he didn't notice that a customer was being neglected.

"I think maybe in the supply closet…"

He rose and walked away without another word.

"Can _you_ please help her, Yotan?" Omi implored, attempting his best innocent face. "I've had a really rough morning and I don't think I can deal with another customer right now."

"Aw, chibi," Yohji chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Poor, poor, recently molested chibi…"

He found himself brightening.

"You'll do it then?"

"I'm not as irresponsible as I seem, Omikins!"

"Oh, Yotan…!"

"If I were to help you, you'd never learn how to deal with these things yourself!"

"Wh…what?"

"Anyway, daddy needs a drink."

Another pat on the shoulder, and the blonde sauntered off toward the back of the shop, leaving Omi to deal with the customer alone.

This one wasn't as bad as the previous ones had been. In fact, she behaved herself quite well, and didn't try to grab him once. Still, Omi was on edge the entire time, and in a bad mood to boot, and he actually jumped when the sound of the bell jingled once more.

"Be right with you!" he called to the new customer, busy pointing his current one to Ken at the register. As Ken put aside his magazine to ring up her purchase, Omi turned his tired smile on the newcomer.

"Hello, kiddo," Manx greeted.

"Oh!"

"I'm here to pick up my order," she smiled. "Is it ready yet?"

That was one of their many codes to let him know that they needed to gather, close the shop down early, and get ready for a briefing.

"I'll have to go check," he answered. He always felt silly and too obvious when he had to pretend the red haired woman was just another customer, but he knew she wouldn't have come in the middle of the day unless it was really important.

Omi had never enjoyed killing, but there had always been some small satisfaction to him in the fact that, through his deeds, he was protecting the innocence of others. If he had to take life, then it was best he took it from those who only used it to hurt others.

Lately, however, it was becoming harder and harder to look at his targets and see only monsters. The 'dark beasts' he hunted were men and women, and, in the end, not so very different from him. Rather than the old feelings of excitement at the prospect of a new mission, now he felt only tired.

"Aya," he called as his hand closed on the door handle of the supply closet. "Do you have that _special order_ for miss…are you two fighting?"

Yohji and Aya were in opposite corners of the supply closet, clothing and hair slightly disheveled and both slightly out of breath. The twin guilty looks on their faces was all the confirmation he needed.

Omi glanced back, but Manx wasn't paying attention to him. He quickly stepped into the closet, closing the door behind him.

"What are you two doing?" he hissed.

They exchanged glances.

"Hey...chibi…"

"No! Don't 'hey chibi' me!" he scolded. "I thought you two worked this out!"

"You…?"

"I don't care how angry you get at each other, you _can't_ launch into a fistfight every time you disagree on something!"

They stared at him.

"Omi," Aya said slowly, his voice cold and angry. He shot a glare at Yohji. "I don't think you understand."

"_You_ don't understand!" he hissed. "If Krittiker thinks you can't get along, they'll have to split us up! We could lose Weiss, all because you two can't control your tempers!" he had to fight not to yell, his own self-control fraying. "Manx is here – what do you think would have happened if _she_ had been the one to open the door? Now, shake hands and apologize!"

The two looked at each other once more, both hesitating. Yohji shrugged, which made Aya purse his lips in annoyance.

"Chibi," Yohji began again, reluctantly.

"Shake hands and apologize, damn it, or I'm gonna make you give 'kiss and make up' a more literal meaning!" Didn't anyone get it? Weiss was the only family he had! If Krittiker tried to split them up, they would all be alone again. "_Now,_ damn it!" he ordered.

Again, they looked at each other.

Aya's lips quirked as he extended his long, pale hand toward Yohji.

"I apologize, Kudoh."

"You _should_ apologize," the blonde muttered. "You're a bad boy."

"You have to apologize, too, Yohji!" Omi insisted.

"You've been just as bad as I have," Aya agreed, waiting.

Yohji grabbed his hand, pumped it once, then dropped it quickly. "Fine," he stuffed both hands in his pockets, as if afraid he would attack Aya again if he didn't restrain himself. "I'm sorry, too."

The three assassins were silent for several moments as Omi waited to receive his own apologies.

"You guys, _please_ try harder to get along, okay?" he pled at last, giving up on the thought that either of them would realize that they should say they were sorry to him, too. "I don't want to lose either of you to another team, and Krittiker _really_ hasn't been happy with us lately. _Please_ don't give them an excuse."

"Sorry, chibi."

"We'll be more responsible in the future," Aya agreed.

He nodded, satisfied, and as he turned to open the door, he just caught sight of the two men give each other another heated glance. Despite the apologies, it was clear that neither was yet willing to relinquish whatever-the-hell-it-was that they were fighting over.

Yet _another_ thing to worry about, he thought with a queasy sigh. He didn't speak to any of the others as he began to perform the tasks necessary for closing the shop.

It was only while he was doing a quick pass over the floor with a mop that he happened to glance over at the supply table and see that Aya had been mistaken. He hadn't been out of the number four ribbon at all.

* * *

tbc

As always, HUGE thanks to everyone for reading. Even HUGER thanks to those who reviewed.

Cheesy preview of next chapter: "You should decline this mission."

Response to Unsigned Reviews: None this time. Shame, shame.


	4. Chapter 3: Lost Path

I hate having plot. It gets in the way of fluff. Unfortunatley, a "good" writer is supposed to have plot...most of the time. Or so I'm told. Anyway, enjoy your stinkin' plot. (grins) One of my cats helped me write this chapter. He wrote gnrhsigb gnsbgswb gtisrngtfu9s, but I ended up having to cut it. Still, don't we all appreciate his creative input? I did keep the part where he named the other team though, so he was a little help. Thank you, Riku-chan!

Chapter Three

Lost Path

* * *

"Is it movie time now?" Yohji asked in mock-eagerness, bouncing a little in his seat as if he was a child expecting a treat. "Do we have time to make popcorn?" He pointedly ignored the disapproving looks from his teammates as Omi helped Manx set up her presentation. No one sane would ever choose to eat while watching most of the things the voluptuous agent brought to show them, and it had been a long time since Yohji had taken on the prospect of a new mission with anything even slightly resembling eagerness, but, for the moment, at least, the lanky blonde found himself to be in a very good mood.

Any day where they got to close early was cause for joy from the work-phobic man, whatever the motivation behind the closing.

"Now, I don't want you to think I'm complaining," he drawled slowly, "Because I most certainly am _not_…but where's Birman?"

"She's not sick, is she?" Omi asked with sudden concern.

"Birman is fine," Manx assured the youngest assassin with a fond smile. "She's out today interviewing potential partners, but Krittiker didn't want to wait until her return – they're putting a rush on this mission."

"Well, she's definitely easy on the eyes, but I have to say that it's nice to see those curves of _yours_ again," Yohji said, spreading his arms out along the back of the couch. If he stretched _just right_, he could just manage to brush his fingers against the back of Aya's neck. "I've always had a weakness for redheaded babes."

"We're going to have to neuter him, Manx – I'm becoming more convinced of it every day!" Ken said as the woman gave Yohji an irritated look. "You know he had someone in his room every night last week?"

"Are you _telling_ on me, Kenken? What'd you do – drill a peephole in my wall?" he teased, keeping his tone playfully offended as he carefully stoked his fingers along the back of Aya's neck – up, into his hairline, and down, under the collar of his shirt, the movement so small that none of the others would notice it. "I didn't know you were such a perv – spying on a guy's most private moments! For shame!"

"How the hell is _not being able to help hearing_ anything like 'spying'?" Ken demanded.

"Maybe we should get to the mission briefing," Omi suggested before the fight could escalate.

Manx was frowning. "It's dangerous for you to bring strangers home, Kudoh," she said.

Yohji shrugged. "I'm careful," he stated, more concerned with entertaining himself by watching how uncomfortable he was making Aya. The man couldn't demand that he stop what he was doing without drawing unwanted attention.

"Okay, everything's all set!" Omi handed the remote to Manx, then plopped down on the couch between Yohji and Aya. Reluctantly, the blonde retracted his arm. "Will you get the lights, Ken?"

The athlete stretched backwards in his chair, hitting the switch as Manx pressed play.

Even though he knew it was only a computer simulation, it was still strange when Persia filled the screen, still disconcerting to hear the voice of the dead man giving them their orders.

"Men of Weiss," the deep, familiar voice began, just as it had countless other times.

Pictures that looked like they had once belonged on ID tags flashed up on the screen as the Persia simulation explained of the Krittiker assassin team, Po, that, while out on a routine patrol in the area of the city where they were stationed, had been suddenly ambushed and slaughtered.

Yohji had seen a lot of horrible things in his life, but he found he had to look away from the pictures of the crime scene.

"Avenge your fallen comrades," was the order that the Persia-sim gave, and the screen went black before a single potential target had been named.

Manx turned on the lights, holding up a thick file. "Enclosed is a map of the area in which the agents were stationed, a disk containing everything from their computer's hard drive, and hard copies of all of their mission reports leading up to their deaths."

"You don't have any leads at all?" Ken asked as Aya rose to take the file.

"Their area had grown too quiet in recent months," she answered quietly. "We think that Esset was involved in something they didn't want to draw attention to, and that this team got too close."

"But what made them suspicious in the first place?" Aya asked, flipping through the file. "To go patrolling just because things have been quiet doesn't make any sense."

"We don't know what tipped them off."

Aya made some sort of noise, leaning against the wall as he continued to thumb through the mission notes.

"So," he said at last, voice hard and cold. "Either they _did_ come too close to something important, or they were just exceedingly unlucky. Krittiker has no idea which it was."

"Yes," Manx agreed without hesitation, only shrugging when Aya gave her a surprised look. "Krittiker chose Weiss for this mission because you have such a high success rate, and because they cannot ignore such a violent and senseless attack against some of their own."

They were all surprised when she abruptly bowed her head, and silence passed for several moments as they all tried to decide how to respond. Manx was upset about something – this was unprecedented.

"You should decline this mission," she said at last, voice soft.

"Manx?" she had never given her opinion about any of their assignments before. They were hunters of evil – if they didn't go after those people, then no one else would. That was their job, and their employers never missed a chance to remind them of it – lest they waver in their conviction. There was no mission that wasn't worth it, or so Krittiker wanted them to believe, because even if they lost their lives, the sacrifice was made for the good of humanity.

"They took out an entire team," she said. Her eyes were dry as she raised her head, her expression determined. "And our operatives didn't go quickly. They suffered."

Yohji noticed her eyes fall momentarily upon Omi, and then he understood. Weiss had shared a special connection with the late Persia – special, because his own nephew had been a part of the team. If they were killed, then Manx would lose that last connection to the man she had served so loyally.

And something about this mission seemed somehow darker than the usual fare.

"They will probably be expecting whoever we send," she said, sounding angry. "This isn't a job for a single team, but Krittiker knows sending something larger would mean open war with Esset."

"Was it Schwarz?" Ken asked, more than willing to take on a risky mission if it meant going up against those bastards again.

"Not their style," Aya answered, looking at one of the pictures from the crime scene. "These killers weren't as playful. This looks like it was coldly done."

Yohji rose and moved to take the pictures from him, forcing himself to look at them one more time.

"You're right," he said. He had no doubt that if any of them ever fell to the mercy of Schwarz, they would suffer a fate no less painful and deadly than this other team had, except he was completely sure that Schwarz would enjoy themselves a hell of a lot more than these killers had. "This looks…almost clinical."

"Do you think any of Schreient could have survived?" Ken asked, also rising to take another look. He scowled at the content of the photographs, though it was doubtful that he saw what Yohji, with his history of private investigation, or Aya, with his insight into minds of darkness, could pick out.

"No," Aya said simply.

"Even if they had – they wouldn't have been so textbook about it, either." Yohji agreed.

"Textbook?" Aya looked at him in surprise. "Yes, that _is_ what it looks like."

"There aren't any leads and they'll probably be expecting retaliation," Manx pointed out once more. "We don't even know if there's anything to be gained from sending more operatives in."

"Other than revenge for the other team," Aya stated quietly.

"Yes."

"There's something else, though," Aya closed the file and handed it to Yohji, then crossed his arms. "They didn't kill the agents because they caught them by surprise, or because they just _wanted_ to kill someone. They thought it was…necessary...and the mode of death was kept brutal enough to make it clear they wanted to warn off anyone else coming so close."

Yohji found he agreed with that.

"They might have moved whatever it is the other team found, though," he felt inclined to point out.

Aya nodded with a frown. "We may be able to find some clue, though," he stated. "Anything that would cause them to do this has a fair chance of being someone _we_ need to know about."

"I'll inform Krittiker that you accept the mission, then," Manx said stiffly. She was offended that they hadn't accepted her advice.

"Do we have any kind of time table on this?" Yohji asked.

"No, but all other projects are to be put on hold until this mission is completed."

Yohji paused, and rolled his eyes upwards to look at Aya. Putting off all other missions meant they wouldn't be able to continue their search for his sister for a while. He watched the man's lips thin into a tight line, but Aya didn't say anything about changing his mind about the mission.

"I'll walk you to the door, Manx," Omi offered.

"No. Stay down here and work," she tossed her head and crossed her arms. "If you're going to do this, then do it right. There's no room for stupid mistakes where Esset is concerned…do a thorough job, boys…and be careful."

"Thanks, Manx."

The four were silent for several moments after the red haired woman had left. Yohji gave Omi the copy of the other team's hard drive, and the younger assassin went to the computer without a word. Aya silently took the printouts and returned to the couch. Yohji and Ken began to look at the map, marking it in places where hiding the actions of Esset seemed most likely.

"Was there anything in that packet about a code?" Omi asked finally.

"A code?" Aya looked up from his papers. "No."

Omi frowned at the computer screen. "I use a code when making my reports to Krittiker – so that if anyone unexpected got a hold of them, they wouldn't be able to get any important information."

"Are you looking at the reports right now?"

"Yes."

"They seem pretty straight forward."

"I know. They aren't even using their code names – that's what's bothering me."

"Do you think they're counterfeit?"

"No…I think they're hiding out in the open. There's got to be something really important here for them to try to blind the reader with such big, obvious details.

"Hm." Aya said, and returned to his reading.

"Omi, give that a rest for a minute," Yohji's mind was buzzing. This was more like the old detective work, and he was excited. He rose, crossing the room to lean against the back of the younger man's chair. "Run a search for me."

"Okay…" Omi pulled up the appropriate window. "What do you need?"

"Police records. I want to know what's been goin' on in our little neighborhood. Ken, what are the street names, again?"

He told him, and Omi put in the information, searching for any recent police reports about anything in the area.

"A lot of domestic disturbances."

"Yeah, there's a pretty shitty neighborhood in the upper section. You can delete those. Delete the report about them finding the agents' bodies, too – that won't tell us anything we don't already know."

Omi did as told, then glanced back at him for more instructions.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"Not sure yet," he reached to take control of the mouse, scrolling down.

"This is all petty stuff, Yotan," Omi sighed. "A couple break-ins, some parking violations, arsen…Hey! Do you think _that_ might...?"

"Nah." Yohji barely looked at the last before deleting it.

"Yotan…"

"All right," he deleted a few more, then expanded the information on what he'd left. "Print this up for me."

He shrugged and did so.

"Anything else?"

"Can you get me another copy of the map? It doesn't have to be as big as the one Manx brought."

"Sure," Omi looked at him expectantly as the map began to print. "Anything else?"

"Nope. Thanks, chibi," he picked up the new materials and turned away.

Aya was watching him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. Yohji gave a shrug, and returned to his seat.

* * *

tbc

Yay for plot. (grumbles...) This thing's gonna take forever, isn't it? Have mapped out plotline - looking like 35 to 40 chapters at the least. Sheesh. I hope you're reading.

Cheesy preview for next chapter: don't you hate it when you get distracted from something you _want_ to do by something you _have_ to do?

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - Ah! Don't distract me with images like that when I'm trying to be responsible and have storyline _before_ the last five chapters of a fic! (runs off to clean up own nosebleed.) Shame!

glinwulf - If you're dirty minded...then what does that make me? Innocent li'l Omi _did_ misread it...

Thanks everyone! Hope to see you next week! And get to work on those reviews, you hear?


	5. Chapter 4: Details

In addition to more plotness, this chapter also contains a nice little glimpse into some of the special, secret interaction of a certain pair of characters.

Updating a day early due the the fact I will be going out of town tomorrow. Enjoy - and don't forget to review!

Chapter Four

Details

* * *

The silence was a good one, he decided. It was calm, productive, even comfortable. It was the kind of silence that soothed his soul in an almost meditative manner, making it possible for him to set aside the wild torrent of guilt and pain and fury that simmered just below the surface, always threatening to overwhelm him.

Throwing himself at Yohji Kudoh had been an act of desperation, and they both knew it. He had felt like a caged animal that day – restless and dangerous. He'd wanted blood, and it hadn't mattered if it came from friend or foe or even his own body. It had been luck alone that had caused Kudoh to enter the kitchen that night while Aya paced the ground, growing steadily more and more overwhelmed. Luck alone that it had been _Kudoh_, the only one who would have been able to turn his violence into passion – a passion so strong that it burned everything else out of his mind.

And it had been luck alone that had allowed the two of them to learn together how very comforting _silence_ could be when they were alone – even when that silence was not preceded by sex. The knowledge that he was not alone did more toward keeping him calm and rational and sane than he ever would have dared to dream.

It wasn't just _Aya_ depending on the convenient arrangement they had made, though. Ever since Yohji had killed Neu, he had begun to show up at Aya's door almost as often as Aya went to his.

And since, somehow, it was comfortable just to be in the same room, there were nights when the clothes never came off at all. Similarly, there were also nights when the passions arose – hot and insistent – without being accompanied by the overwhelming emotions that had first necessitated their coming together in the first place.

Their relationship was purely selfish on both ends, and neither entertained any illusions of romance, despite the delight each took in the other's body.

Friendship, though, they had reluctantly been forced to admit, friendship was _almost_ permissible – as long as they were careful with it. They had the ability to understand each other, and that was something that could not be wasted.

Aya leaned his head back, closing his tired eyes to give them a little rest, and listened to the silence with satisfaction.

The Weiss household was still tonight. Omi was out – spending a late night at a classmate's house to work on an assignment for school. Ken, who had a soccer game very early in the morning, was already in bed.

So when Kudoh had shown up at his door with the mission file and a bottle of merlot, spending the night working together on the new project had seemed a very good idea, indeed.

Opening his eyes, Aya found himself looking at the golden head bowed over the mess of notes Kudoh had been toting around ever since they had been given the assignment almost two weeks ago. Aya knew that the blonde had a trunk under his bed filled almost to capacity with cheap, formulaic detective novels. Yohji had only laughed and agreed when Aya had accused him of being like a child playing cops and robbers. The pervading mysteries of their newest mission seemed to have drawn him in completely. Aya had never seen him so focused.

Every day the sheaves of papers became increasingly dark with the man's cramped, hurried notes. The map was such a mess of different colored markings that it couldn't even be read anymore by anyone save the blonde. Aya had seen his teammate stop suddenly in the midst of doing something to flip quickly through his notes to jot something on one specific page too many times to ever think, as Ken did, that the man was merely pretending to work.

Yohji looked up, found his eyes on him, and smiled. Aya fought the urge to look away.

"You ready to call it a night, then?" Yohji asked.

"Just a break, maybe," he answered. His voice was quiet and cool, but not unfriendly, and it earned him another smile. "I'm getting a headache."

"Yeah," Kudoh, sitting on the opposite end of the bed, stretched his long body back against the footboard. "All these little details can play hell on the retinas."

"I think I could have the reports memorized if I read them a few more times," Aya confessed. "I haven't found anything new. I don't think I'm going to."

"I feel the same way," his companion chuckled. "No luck on Omi's code theory, then?"

"Not as far as I can tell."

"Hm." Yohji set aside his notes, and downed the rest of his wine with a single gulp. "Well, then, as long as we're taking a break – wanna fool around?"

"A break, I said. Not a vacation."

"I think you greatly overestimate my stamina, sweetheart." Yohji waggled his eyebrows suggestively, bumping his foot against Aya's. "Well? What do you say?"

"Hn."

"It'll help us clear our minds…so that, you know, when we _do_ get back to work, we can…_think_."

"You seem to have come to this decision fairly quickly, Kudoh," he remarked dryly.

Those bright green eyes twinkled warmly at him as that wide, sensuous mouth spread into a confident, _naughty_ smirk.

"Well," the blonde drawled, "I confess that I _have_ spent the last hour or so thinking very _long_ and _hard_ about taking a little _break_…" he shifted onto his hands and knees, and began to crawl across Aya's body. He nuzzled his neck, targeting the sensitive area just under his left ear. He nipped the tender lobe playfully and raised his lips so that, when he spoke, his warm breath tickled the inside of the shell. "I was _thinking_," he whispered, "That I could blow you – doesn't that sound like a fun _break_? And then _you_ could repay me by…" he stopped suddenly.

Yohji had managed to shove a hand down Aya's pants without the redhead even noticing it, and had been well on his way to 'persuading' his bemused lover, and he'd just stopped, pulling back with a thoughtful look.

"Damn it…" the blonde hissed.

Aya raised an eyebrow. "Flash of inspiration?" he asked wryly.

"Damn it!"

Aya allowed himself a small chuckle as the blonde retreated to his previous position at the end of the bed and grabbed us his notes with a sharp, irritated motion.

"Most people would be proud for not allowing themselves to get distracted," he said, hiding his private disappointment. Letting Yohji know he'd been more than willing to set work aside – for the rest of the night, if need be – would set a dangerous precedent. Aya finished off the last sip of his wine and set his own glass aside before moving to join the blonde at the foot of the bed.

"Bring your notes," Yohji snapped, clearly irritated at himself for choosing work over pleasure. Aya did so, still feeling that wonderful peace, even if the silence had been broken. He didn't know why Yohji's presence was so good for calming him, and he didn't want to know. He would begin to see it as the other man having some kind of power over him if he thought about it too much, and then he would become angry.

He was too tired to let that happen. He would worry about it later, after he had his sister back and no longer required the help Kudoh gave him.

Aya settled down next to the blonde and earned himself a small, distracted smile.

"If I knew alcohol made you snuggly, I would have given you some long ago."

"Kudoh."

"Right – sorry." Yohji took Aya's notes from him. "You mentioned that there was an entry in the mission log about a gunfight a week before the team's death?"

"Here," Aya pulled the appropriate page out and rested his chin against Yohji's shoulder as they read over the entry together.

"So they found a suspicious laboratory, and while they were investigating, they were attacked."

"But they didn't see their attacker's faces, and none of the security cameras caught anything."

"But the report says specifically that several of the computers sustained damage."

Which was why the team hadn't been able to get any information from them – but Yohji had obviously already realized this.

"There's something in the police report about the incident?" Aya asked, lifting his head. He hadn't looked at the information Yohji had pulled, assuming that if there had been anything significant, Krittiker would have supplied it themselves, and also, privately, underestimating the intelligence Yohji tried so hard to hide.

Yohji scanned over his own notes for a moment before finding what he was looking for.

"According to the police report, there were several computer and electronics stores broken into the very next night. Now, do you think that's coincidence? Or - ?"

"Or they wanted to repair or replace the machines that were damaged."

Yohji scowled thoughtfully at the pages. "But Esset wouldn't need to do something stupid like that, would they?" he sounded disapointed.

"They would if they couldn't wait or didn't want their supervisors to know that there had been trouble." Aya took Yohji's map, but found it nearly impossible to see anything of the original contents.

"Here's the location of the lab," Kudoh pointed to the spot without being prompted. "And the three shops that were broken into are here, here, and here…I'm not just being stupid? You think they could be related?"

Aya shrugged. "You're the detective."

"Yeah," he grinned, "But I was a pretty shitty one, wasn't I?"

"In any case, we can go and have a look around tomorrow," Aya pointedly ignored the comment. "We can even close the shop – Ken will be at his game, and Omi will be at school. If we do find anything suspicious, we'll have to come back later, once we have the full team."

"You're sexy when you talk business."

Aya felt a small smile tug at his lips, but managed to hide it before Yohji launched himself at him, pinning him on his back.

"Well? What do you think?" the blonde asked. "We've finished our homework, the wine has worked better than I ever dared hope to loosen you up, and I'm feelin' frisky."

"You're feeling frisky?" he repeated. "Are you eighty?"

"Come on," he gave a suggestive wiggle atop Aya. "Play with me. It's been _days_ since we've had any fun!"

"You're the one who's been so focused on the mission."

"I've been damned _stupid_!" he groaned, turning his suggestive wiggle into a gasp-inducing grind. "Please forgive my blindness, baby. It feels like _forever_ since we…"

"The night before we got our mission."

Yohji was surprised enough to stop his teasing.

"Really? That long? I've been a _fool_!"

"Omi caught us in the supply closet the next day – there's no guarantee you would have been getting any, anyway."

"Because we got caught?"

"Because I was angry at you. I _told_ you it was a mistake to try anything during the _day_!" Aya's voice held no more warmth or emotion than it usually did, yet somehow Yohji could still tell when he was willing to be played with and when he wanted to be left alone.

"We're lucky the kid's so innocent," Yohji grinned. "Never even _occurred_ to him that I was about two seconds away from mauling you…" the grin became a genuine smile – so warm that it threatened to melt Aya's icy defenses. "No wonder you're getting a headache, sweetheart. Where are your reading glasses?"

Aya scowled at him, glaring.

"Not that I'm nagging!" the blonde said quickly.

"Yes, you were."

Yohji had laughed at him when he had discovered Aya's secret – the fact he was supposed to wear glasses when he read. Aya had never liked the damn things, and only resorted to them when it was absolutely necessary.

Yohji, though, used each and every piece of information he learned about Aya to nag him. He thought the swordsman didn't take proper care of himself, and refused to realize that the fact Aya was using his body for personal therapy did _not_ mean the blonde had the right to try to take care of him in _other_ ways.

"The specs are sexy," Yohji said.

Aya glared.

"Perhaps," he said coldly, "You should go back to your own room now."

"Oh, baby, you wound me!"

"I'm not your 'baby'."

Yohji only laughed. Usually, Aya permitted him any stupid little nickname he wanted to call him. It was a way for the both of them to distance themselves from each other, and they had already leaned that if Yohji said his name while in the throes of passion, it made them _both_ uncomfortable.

But when Yohji got on his nerves, the pet names were _insufferable_.

Yohji rolled onto his back and pulled Aya with him. Still glaring, the small redhead sat up, straddling his irritating lover's hips.

"Don't nag me," he ordered.

"I'm just looking out for your health."

"That isn't your place."

The smile fell from Yohji's lips, and for a moment, he looked at Aya so seriously that the redhead felt a flash of irrational fear.

"Kudoh," he said coldly. "That isn't your place. Let me hear you say it."

"This isn't me getting confused about what's going on here," the blonde muttered, looking away. "This isn't me mistaking sex for…other things. You compromise your health, and you compromise all of Weiss, and that's all it is."

"Is that the kind of thing you think about?" Aya asked with dangerous softness. " When you're partying all night, drinking yourself stupid, shooting up drugs, smoking like a chimney, fucking random strangers?"

"I never said I wasn't a hypocrite!" laughing suddenly, Yohji looked at him once more. His hands inched their way slowly up his thighs, then circled around to grasp his rear. "Besides," he said teasingly, "As long as you let me fuck _you_, I don't have to go to random strangers, now do I?"

Aya closed his eyes to control his glare, and took a deep breath to settle his annoyance. The peace was rapidly slipping away, but he wasn't willing to let it go just yet.

Yohji waited, silent, patient. This wasn't something he'd had to learn, but had seemed to understand instinctually – goading Aya when he was already annoyed was one thing, but if he was consciously trying to keep his temper in check, then Yohji would be quiet and let him.

At last he was able to open his eyes, to look down at Yohji and see his pretty, chiseled face, his golden hair splayed all around him on the pillow, his striking green eyes watching him, so dark and quiet, and _not_ want to claw him to shreds.

"Better now?" the blonde asked softly.

Aya didn't answer – just continued to look at him. He had had the man's hands on every inch of his body, at one time or another. His lips had fed hungrily at his skin. He was, generally speaking, more comfortable in the man's presence than he had been with anyone in a very long time.

Despite that, they were still virtually strangers.

"I was only teasing," Yohji said quietly.

"I know."

"I'll leave, if you really want me to."

"Stay."

"Look…I won't lecture you about taking care of yourself when I can't do the same," he promised with a sigh, "But I've been doing a lot better lately, you know."

"Yes, I know."

"So…you should try, too, right?"

He nodded tightly.

Yohji's hands slid back down his thighs, the gesture one more of attempted comfort than of sexual interest.

"What about it pisses you off so much, anyway?"

"Nothing," he said stiffly. "It just makes me uncomfortable."

"You sure you don't want me to leave?"

Aya sighed. The peace of the night had managed to escape, and his reality was flooding back in a way that not even the presence of the lively and energetic Yohji Kudoh could chase away.

"Don't leave," he said.

They grew silent, staring at each other, and in the quiet and the stillness of the house, the sound of feet on the stairs was all the warning they needed. By the time Omi stuck his head in to tell them he was home, they were an appropriate distance apart, back in their original positions – Aya sitting up against the headboard, Yohji against the foot, their mission work spread out around them.

"So, this is where you are, Yotan!" Omi sounded surprised. "When you weren't in your room, I thought you'd gone out."

"Now, chibi, would I really go party when there's work to be done?"

"Well…yeah." Omi crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "So, did you make any progress?"

"A little. We're going to do a little recon tomorrow."

"Okay," Omi yawned. "Well, is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, go on to bed."

"Okay then," he agreed gratefully. "But don't you two stay up too late with this. It's not fair for you to be up all night working when Ken and I aren't."

"We're almost done," Yohji assured him. "Goodnight, chibi."

After he had gone, Yohji and Aya remained in silence for several long moments.

"Why are you still over there?" Aya asked at last.

"Just let me lock the door." Yohji rolled out of the bed and padded to the door. He was already peeling off his shirt as he returned, and the look in his eyes had gone dark and wicked and lusty.

Aya reached for him, hands going into his hair, and he used that hold to pull him to him, yanked roughly on those golden locks to force his mouth down onto his own.

And the peace, and the calm, they were gone, but it didn't matter, because Kudoh's large, calloused hands were on him – rough, demanding, tugging his shirt up and over his head, and his mouth was on his skin, feeding at him hungrily, almost bruising in their intensity.

And, for a while, the rest of the world was gone.

* * *

tbc

Cheesy teaser for next chapter: Mission! Part I of III.

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - Well, see, "little" Yohji is well taken care of for the moment, so no need for worries. (grins) Thanks!

Thanks for reading, everyone!


	6. Chapter 5: Perspectives I

Major thanks for your patience. The weeks off were greatly needed, and now I'm back. Not only am I back, but I come bearing gifts. (Kind of.) I've opened a new forum on the ff boards for Weiss, so the next time you feel like discussion, come give me a visit. Additionally, you can also head over to my livejournal, and take a look at the new fanart linked to there. (Sadly, it's all my own work – so it's not very good – but you might get a kick out of it, anyway.) There's also a new oneshot up in my _Weiss Collection_ series, so there's a third little present for your possible enjoyment.

When the bff gave this chapter a read-over, she told me "Weiss is acting like a bunch of idiots, which, if you look at some of their cannon missions, is perfectly IC." I didn't intend for it to be stupid, but if it is…maybe it's okay? So, anyway, here's hoping that however unprofessional our boys act, they don't turn you off to my little fic.

Chapter Five:

Perspectives (part I)

* * *

It was a group of five – a 'gang' might have been a better description, considering their behavior and mode of dress. They were gathered in a small knot at the bottom of the steps leading up to the office building.

"They're here all day, every day," Aya said, returning from a nearby food vendor. His voice was cold, professional, and barred the discussion of anything save their mission. He handed Yohji the food he had purchased as pretense during his interview, and sat down next to him on the bench.

"This part of the neighborhood is an odd place for a bunch of punks to mark their territory," Yohji mused.

Aya snorted. He was kind enough to leave the _duh_ silent.

The small office building across the street was just as boring and normal-looking as any other, but something had led the ill-fated Krittiker team to interfere anyway.

"So you think they've still got the lab in their basement?"

"Why set guards if they don't?"

Yohji nodded thoughtfully. There was no doubt that the young hoodlums out front were, indeed, guarding _something_. The only problem remaining with the theory was…

"Why _wouldn't_ they move it once it was discovered?"

"Same reason they had to break into the electronics stores and worked so hard to wipe out the other team," Aya stated. "For whatever reason, they want the fact that an altercation occurred here to remain under Esset's radar."

"Business as usual, eh?"

"Hn," he grunted.

"So we're coming back tonight?"

"Yes. But…" Aya hesitated, frowning at the building as if suspecting that it would hold its secrets much more closely than they were hoping. "Tonight is strictly recon. We're shadows – do you understand? No one sees us, no one dies, no one knows we've been here."

"You're the boss." Yohji glanced at his watch, and felt himself grinning. "That didn't take as long as I thought it would," he said. "So? What now?"

Aya was quiet for a moment before answering.

"I think we should go home..."

"Yeah?" Yohji prompted, sliding his fingers into the hair at the name of Aya's neck. Home sounded..._promising_.

"And open the shop."

Yohji felt his lecherous smile fall away. By the time he recovered, Aya had already risen and began to walk.

"Aya, you…that's just…_bastard!_"

* * *

Sometimes when they opened the shop late, it was barely worth it. Aside from the after-school rush of admirers, who never bought much, anyway, it was usually slow, and quiet, and boring.

Not today.

By the time they could at last close for the night, Yohji was exhausted and the shop was a mess.

Aya, who seemed to have continued in his difficult streak from this morning, insisted that they get everything cleaned up before they left for their mission.

He was going to make them open tomorrow morning, the bastard.

By the time the shop was clean and restocked and everyone was dressed, the night had turned cold, and a light rain had began to drizzle.

"What do you think?" Omi asked, peering out into the mess of the night from the safety of the back door. "Two cars tonight?"

"One," Aya said. He stepped past, into the darkness and the cold and the rain, determined.

"Guess that's his way of telling us we better not screw up," Yohji said. He checked his watch to make sure the wire-release was unclogged and properly working, then followed his lover into the night.

The mood in the car was tense and quiet as Aya drove them down to the out-of-the-way parking lot they had chosen to stash their vehicle in during the mission – it was in easy walking distance from the office building, but poorly lit, and would not be an obvious starting location, should anyone try to investigate their actions tonight. Aya seemed even more irritated than usual today, and Omi had had a bad day at school. When Ken had returned from his game flush with excitement over his victory and been met with his teammate's frowns, he had deflated quickly into a sulking silence.

Aya parked and got out of the car without a word for any of them.

They knew how to use the shadows, and how to walk in silence. The small team made their way slowly toward the office building, unnoticed by anyone. As they drew near, Yohji took note of a group of hoodlums on the front steps – not the same ones from earlier, but located in the exact same place. Aya only nodded when he silently pointed them out.

They circled around the back and waited in silence as Omi set to work on the alarm. Leaning against the building, Yohji took the opportunity to light a cigarette.

"So…how do we know, if Esset really _is_ using this place, that they won't have anyone working tonight?" Ken demanded at last, his voice an impatient whisper.

"When the other team investigated they found that Esset only had people here during the day," Yohji said.

"Except guards," Aya added darkly.

"Except guards," Yohji amended. The fact that there wasn't anyone working after business hours only _supported_ the idea that whoever was in charge was unwilling to gain too much attention from their Esset employers.

"Kudoh. You _will_ dispose of that _correctly_," Aya added suddenly, glaring at his cigarette. He was always concerned that someone would find a discarded butt and use it to track down Weiss. He'd long since realized the futility of insisting that Yohji not smoke on missions at all – as the blonde tended to "forget" – but he _did_ continue to insist that he clean up after himself.

Yohji gave him a playful salute, but received only a flat, annoyed look in return.

"All right," Omi said, "I'm in."

The halls of the business were dark and silent, the offices abandoned and locked up tight.

"What kind of business _is_ this, by the way?" Yohji asked, trying to peer into each office they passed. He only shrugged when Aya gave him another annoyed look. "If we're gonna get caught 'cause someone hears me talking, then they were close enough to catch us anyway. Probably. I think."

Aya grunted, clearly displeased with his logic.

"The space is rented out," Omi answered instead, much more quietly than Yohji was bothering to speak. "This floor is for an insurance agency, I think."

"See Aya? The kid answered me and the building _didn't_ explode."

A grunt and a glare. Had Aya's pissy mood really become actual anger? Frowning, the blonde tried to figure out what he'd (been caught) doing wrong recently.

"The second floor is a bunch of law offices, and the third is a medical clinic," Omi continued. Chattering at them was one of his favorite ways of ignoring conflict within the group. "They're all Esset-controlled, of course, or at least supported. The basement was marked as storage on the blueprints."

"You _should_ have made sure you knew all this sooner," Ken grumbled.

Maybe _that_ was why Aya was mad at him?

The reached the basement entrance without incident, and found the door locked. As Omi set to work on it, the other men of Weiss began to put on their headsets. Ken would be staying upstairs to watch for guards while the other three went on alone, and they wanted to be able to stay in touch.

Yohji handed Omi his headset as the youngest Weiss rose and Omi put it on, reminding them all to check their frequencies as the three began to quietly head down.

"Well…_hell_…" Yohji said as they reached the bottom landing. "If this isn't _disappointing_."

The storage-basement-turned-mysterious-laboratory was…

Just a storage basement.

"So…they _did_ relocate?" he asked.

Omi looked to Aya. "You know the blueprints best…"

"This area is roughly half the size of the allotted square footage," he answered in clipped tones.

"So what the hell does that mean?" Yohji demanded.

Omi looked at him and shrugged. "I guess…" he said slowly, "I guess it means that we look for a hidden door."

* * *

He'd found the slightly rumpled pack of cigarettes while rifling through the jackets of his victims, and just because the particular brand wasn't exactly his favorite, didn't mean he wasn't appreciative of the "gift".

"I take it that your relaxing is a sign that you have everything under control – or, at least, _think_ you do."

He barely bothered to turn his head to look as Crawford materialized out of the shadows. He chuckled, a low, dark sound, and threw his head back, exhaling lustily.

"_Relaxing_?" he repeated. "Now _that's_ funny, Brad."

The precog's eyes shifted to something behind Schuldig and his frown deepened.

"I don't recall giving you permission to destroy them."

He leaned back against the steps, enjoying the soft rain on his face, and glanced at his companions. He laughed in delight at the previously-unnoticed trails of drool bubbling at many of their mouths.

"Wrong again, _Vater_. Tsk, tsk."

"Oh?" he sounded doubtful.

"I didn't do anything I can't repair later." Reaching out, he nudged one of the blank-eyed young men, causing him to fall over into one of his friends' laps. "I give you my promise – they may be no better than infants now, but in the morning they will wake absolutely fine. A little grumpy, maybe headachy, but…I'm not even going to play with them. You should be proud of me."

"Proud that you followed orders? Stop being a child, Schuldig."

He heaved a heavy, dramatic sigh.

"You're mean."

The other man's mouth thinned into an even more displeased frown, and another laugh bubbled from the telepath's lips.

"Relax, will you? Before you mar your pretty face with unsightly wrinkles. Really, Brad, you're no Spring chicken, you know. Have you even _started_ a moisturizing routine?"

"Schuldig."

That voice was nearing its 'scary' range now, he thought with a shiver of pleasure. Goading Bradley Crawford, for whom control was _everything_, into _any_ kind of emotion was one of his most treasured games.

"Weiss has penetrated the basement," he informed him, reluctantly backing off. "Abyssinian is fighting me a little, but it's nothing I can't handle. They'll never consciously guess that their every move has been influenced by me – just as ordered. Okay? Happy?"

"If you ruin this, Schuldig…"

"Bah!" he took another drag from his cigarette and raised his eyebrows mockingly. "Threats, Brad? Really?"

"Promises, Schuldig."

"All right, all right," he sighed. "I'll reassure you – if only for the sake of protecting your face from frown lines."

"I'm still waiting."

"Ah? You can't See tonight's end? Too bad."

"Schuldig."

He rolled his eyes up to look at him, and felt his smile fall.

"Contrary to popular belief," he said slowly, angrily, "I am not incompetent. I do have _some_ measure of self control. I can be subtle when I need to."

"You're angry at me?" he was startled.

"If you're going to start underestimating me," the telepath said, looking away and raising his cigarette back up to his lips, "I'm going to have to make you suffer."

Not being taken seriously even by the man who had hand-chosen him for his team...it was infuriating, embarrassing, and a little frightening.

Schuldig had never been slotted to be a killer, after all. Esset trained up more than murderers in their quest to gain control of the world, and most of those in charge believed that teaching telepaths how to use their powers for violence was too risky.

With Schuldig's looks and the sheer, unprecedented strength of his Talent, he had been seen as the perfect candidate for one of the most common uses for his kind – that is, he had been raised to be a toy, a bartering chip, a reward for a political leader or mob boss who kept his promises to Esset. With their ability to read minds, to anticipate so accurately the wants and needs of their clients, most telepaths met this fate.

It was only Crawfor'd interference that had ever placed a gun in Schuldig's hand, given him the ability to kill, rather than serve. He no longer had to stifle hurt pride, no longer had to endure the perverted thoughts of clients to be forced into his mind so strongly that, eventually, he forgot that they were not his own, and half believed that he actually _wanted_ the things they did.

Schuldig was a good killer. Grateful for this alternate option, he had never once balked at taking life.

And when Crawford doubted him, there was _no other_ response for him than anger.

"You are the one man who I would never dare underestimate, Schuldig," the precog said, voice strained by some little vision their conversation had inspired.

Schuldig hoped the vision had been a bloody one.

"Oh?" he asked bitterly, stubbing the remains of his cigarette out on the step.

"I'm not a fool."

"No, that's _my_ job, isn't it?"

"You are the singularly most dangerous creature I know."

Schuldig looked at him sharply, but knew he wasn't being placated. Bradley Crawford didn't placate _anyone_.

"Well, don't forget it," he grumbled darkly, looking away at last. "Weiss has found the inner room now – do you want me to keep the connection, or shall we trust them to connect the dots on their own?"

Crawford frowned at him a moment longer before turning away.

"Draw back slowly, but keep the guards under until they're gone."

"They'll get suspicious if the mission is too easy," Schuldig sing-songed.

"Then make sure it _isn't_!" he snapped. "But draw back as much as you can – and make sure they aren't harmed."

"I hate pulling out early," he pouted. He gave a jerk of surprise as Crawford began to walk away. "Hey! This mean you don't wanna babysit me anymore?"

"Consider it a sign of trust."

Schuldig threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing loudly in the darkness.

* * *

"Damned creepy night," Yohji grumbled, rubbing his arms as if warming himself. He blinked blankly as his statement only earned him odd stares from his teammates. "What?" he asked. "Is it just me?"

"Yotan…" Omi sighed, and went back to typing at the computer they had found, copying everything onto the disk he had brought.

Privately, Aya couldn't help but to agree with Yohji's words, stupid as they sounded. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something…_wrong_ with the night, the building, the entire situation, even though he couldn't figure out what it was. It left him feeling uneasy and cold.

He wanted to go home, he realized. He wanted to go to bed.

He wanted, he reflected, glancing at Yohji, a pair of arms around him.

And it was _that_ need that was keeping him silent and isolated tonight, returning any friendly word or gesture with coldness. He indulged in those thoughts only when strictly necessary, but this was work. He could and _would_ not succumb to such weakness while on a mission.

"How's everything going down there?" Ken's voice asked, crackling over their headsets. Checking in every ten minutes was standard protocol, but it was getting annoying.

"Giant orgy!" Yohji quipped. "You're really missing out!"

"Everything's still quiet down here, Ken," Omi informed him, giving Yohji a disapproving look. "We'll be finished soon. You doing okay up there?"

"Fine," the athlete sighed, bored. "This place is a graveyard."

Aya shuddered.

* * *

tbc

Next chapter: mission part II

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - most things plotless are more fun than plot, anyway. Bah. (Ish distracted by thoughts of not-so-little Yohji...)

Thanks everyone, and be sure to go check out those "presents" I mentioned! Till next time!


	7. Chapter 6: Perspectives II

The Weiss community seems a little dead lately. Here's hoping it's just the usual springtime drag (I know I certainly suffer from it!) and that everyone out there is merely busy, not disinterested. Remember, the more encouragement I get, the easier the chapters are to write. And the faster I get the chapters out, the faster we can get to the fun part. (insert evil laughter of choice here.) In any case, many many thanks to **Azure and Onyx** and **shuichi'sgirl **for reviewing.

Also remember that there is new (semi-relevant) fanart for this fic up in my LJ. The link to my LJ is in my profile, so go check it out when you have the time. There's also the new Weiss forum I've opened on ff, so go visit "Would you like analysis with those fries" to bat around character interpretations.

Chapter Six:

Perspectives II

* * *

"It's going to take an entire team of Krittiker specialists to get through all this," Omi sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching the data downloading. It was a good speed, but there was too much for the process to go quickly.

If Krittiker ordered Weiss to go through all of this themselves, he was going to have to have a tantrum. Aside from there being a huge amount of data, a mere casual glance had already revealed at least seven different kinds of codes. Giving any information over to Weiss to interpret on their own generally meant that the responsibility would end up falling solely on Omi's shoulders. "That's your job, Omi," his teammates would always laugh. "Let us know when it's time to get violent."

Bastards.

Krittiker had _better_ assign the data to someone else.

When his statement about the information needing to go to specialists, and the implication that he did _not_ want to be the one left in charge of it, failed to gain either a positive or negatigve response, Omi glanced back at his companions.

Yohji, following either the instincts of a natural snoop or the inclinations of a born detective, was slowly walking the room, leisurely flipping through notes, scanning things posted on the walls. Omi thought he saw the older assassin slide a few things into his jacket pockets.

Aya wasn't investigating at all, or even making a pretense at it. He was standing statue-like in a corner, arms crossed and glare fixed on the floor. He had been even more difficult than usual tonight, and Omi couldn't help but to wonder if he and Yohji had continued fighting, just more quietly. They could get pretty vicious, uncensored.

Omi had to turn his attention away from worry about his team, though, because he knew that he couldn't afford the distraction during a mission. There had been a time when Aya and Yohji had been professional enough to put personal matters aside while they were…

On second thought, maybe not.

"Oi, chibi, you finding anything about something called _Kontrolleur_?" Yohji asked suddenly.

"I can't tell until the codes are broken," he answered, suddenly tired. "Why?"

"It's all over the place on their memos."

"I'll mention it to Krittiker," he promised. "Any idea what it is?"

"Some of the notes it's referred to almost like a child or a lover, but those are all in the same handwriting, and marked with the letter _H_."

"I didn't know you could read English, Yotan!"

He shrugged, thumbing through the stack of memos.

"I don't think this _Kontrolleur_ thingy is a person, though, because everything else – everything not written by _H_, I mean – refers to it as an 'it'."

"So, an idea…or a plan…then?"

"Or some type of machine. Some of this looks technical, but it's written in…I don't know what it is."

Silent, Aya reached to take the pages from him. Omi knew their leader had more linguistics training than the rest of them, but it bothered him that he hadn't known Yohji had. Omi made a mental note to find out which languages the rest of Weiss were capable of working in. Knowing would have been useful _years _ago, but oddly, it had never occurred to him to ask.

Aya surprised him – or, more likely, surprised _all_ of them – by giving a sudden laugh.

"It's Pig Latin," he said.

"What? Not it's not!" Yohji peered over his shoulder with a scowl. "It's not!"

"Well, literally, it's Latin," the redhead still sounded amused, "But it's following the _rules_ of Pig Latin, with the endings changed and the beginnings cut…and the sentence structure looks Germanic."

"Great," Omi sighed. "_That'll_ be fun to translate."

"_H _wrote it," Yohji pointed over Aya's shoulder at what Omi could only assume was a signature. "I'm beginning to think this guy's a little psycho."

"They're probably using a similar structure for the rest of their codes," Aya advised quietly. "Mixing languages with the grammar of others. Whoever works on it is going to have to pay careful attention to detail."

"I bet you're right!" Omi turned back to the computer and pulled up a document. "Look at this one – what do you think?"

Aya crossed the room to look.

They spent the rest of the time waiting for the download examining samples of the codes, and found twelve more that they could recognize as being unique. In one case, two pages looked exactly alike until closer inspection revealed the inflections different.

"This is giving me a headache," Omi groaned after Yohji pointed out an Old English sentence structure tacked onto an area of text interspersed with French vocabulary and Spanish pronouns.

"I told you the guy was a psycho," Yohji mumbled.

"We won't let Krittiker assign it to you," Aya stated. "This requires a specialist."

It was with considerable relief that Omi closed all the windows once the download was complete. He waited while Yohji carefully put back everything he had disturbed and Aya retreated back into his bad mood. The puzzle of the codes had almost been enough to distract him.

Omi made a mental note to remember that challenging Aya intellectually seemed like a good way to coax him out of a brooding mood.

"We're headed up, Kenken, so don't attack us," Yohji said into the headset.

"Everything's quiet – and boring as hell!" the athlete answered. "I was about to fall asleep!"

"Good thing you didn't!" the blonde chirruped. "I did that once and Aya caught me and…well, I'll show you the scars later."

"Keep the line clear," Aya snapped, brushing past.

"This should be enough to make Krittiker happy for a long time!" Omi said brightly, ignoring the obvious tension between the two as he followed Aya up the stairs. There was simply no way anyone would go to so much trouble to make their own notes illegible if they weren't hiding something big.

And the chances of that thing being completely unrelated to the deaths of the other Krittiker team were ridiculous.

"I almost feel relaxed!" Ken said, greeting them at the top of the stairs.

Yohji raised an eyebrow. "You complaining?" he asked.

"No. Sorry – _hell_ no. I wish more missions went this smoothly."

"With the other team dead, we could assume that whoever runs this place didn't expect more trouble," Aya said darkly, "But we should never make the same mistake."

"What's that mean?"

"It means…" Omi glanced at Aya and frowned thoughtfully, answering for him. "It means that we shouldn't get careless just because we were lucky getting in. Ayan…do you think it's been _too_ easy?"

As if on cue, a gunshot rang out overhead.

* * *

"_Shit_!"

Schuldig laughed quietly to himself, pulling the cap he had acquired low over his eyes, as he and one of the guards nearly successfully cornered Balinese on the fourth floor.

Weiss was too cute when they got caught by surprise.

Balinese, just like his blonde-bimbo counterparts in every bad horror movie Schuldig had ever seen, had actually run _upstairs_, rather than out the door when he found himself perused – which only made it all more amusing.

He wasn't a coward, by any means, but Abyssinian had ordered that Weiss only kill if necessary – possibly because of the ages of their punk guards, but more likely because he didn't want more attention than necessary drawn to the building in the morning, and nothing caused _attention_ like _murder_.

Schuldig was having the time of his life chasing the kitties, and had to bite his tongue several times to keep from calling out to taunt them. Dressed like the other guards, hair hidden under a hat, he had orders to keep the Weiss from discovering his involvement (lest they become suspicious of their earlier "luck"), and calling out to them would give himself away worse than anything.

The other guards were little better than zombies right now. Schuldig preferred to pull them along like puppets rather than give up his hold on their minds just yet. The rest of Weiss had already gotten out, but since Balinese had run _up_ the stairs, Schuldig couldn't in good conscience just _let_ him go.

Crawford's displeasure pulsed in the back of his mind, but he kept shoving it away, under the knot of thoughts and emotions that represented Nagi and Farf. Crawford was ready for him to wrap it up before he killed one of the guards, or, worse, Balinese, but the telepath was having too much fun.

He wondered if he could _catch_ the kitty…

Unable to restrain himself, he sent an image to Crawford. Catching Balinese…playing with him…catching the others when they came to his rescue…

Playing with _them_…

Crawford's fury lashed back at him, painful enough that he missed a step.

And Balinese escaped though a window.

"Dammit Brad!"

* * *

"Sunnofabitch!" Yohji groaned, collapsing, fully clothed, into his bed.

"Too tired to enunciate?" a voice asked softly from the doorway.

He laughed. "Hell yeah. And a lot of help _you_ were, abandoning my ass."

Aya didn't argue that it had been Yohji's own stupid decision to break from the group. He didn't mention the blonde's apparent lack of ability to use nonlethal force _and_ maintain brain function. He didn't even mention that taking the time to try to "rescue" him would have put the rest of Weiss in unnecessary danger.

Sweet of him.

"Are you injured?" the man asked at last.

"No, just tired. I _walked_ half way home."

"You didn't find a ride?"

"People thought I was a hooker. Finally I just stole some little girl's bike…we should return that tomorrow, by the way."

"Hn."

He sat up enough to look at him.

"Were you worried about me, sweetheart?"

"Only your body."

He realized that the small man was only wearing a robe. As long as Yohji had known him, he'd never seen him in anything like pajamas. He had been shocked to learn that Aya had no qualms about sleeping in the nude, even when he was alone.

He gave a quiet, self-mocking laugh.

"I might be too tired tonight, baby…but I guess I can give it a shot."

"Shut up."

Aya flipped the light switch. In the darkness, Yohji heard the door close and the lock turn.

And then, a few moments later, there was a warm body snuggling up next to him in the bed. Aya didn't complain that Yohji was still in his mission attire, or even that he hadn't bothered to remove his boots.

He snuggled up against Yohji, his back against the blonde's chest, and even reached to grab the blonde's arm, pull it tightly around himself.

"Aya?" this was surprising enough to nearly shove all of his exhaustion out the window.

"If you speak again tonight, I'll cut your tongue out," Aya mumbled, and snuggled even closer.

* * *

"Omi, that coffee smells like heaven!" Ken exclaimed, coming down the stairs into the kitchen. The younger assassin took one look at him and burst into giggles.

"Ken…"

"What?"

"Did you just get out of the shower?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I don't think you got your hair rinsed out."

"Huh?" he moved to the counter and picked up the toaster, trying to catch his reflection in the shiny metal surface. "Ah! Oh, man, I must still be half asleep!"

"How could you miss a head full of suds?" Omi giggled.

"I don't know!"

"Stick your head in the sink."

"What?"

"You can use the sprayer. I'll go get you a towel."

Omi went to the laundry room, and laughed when he returned to find the athlete making a mess as he attempted to rinse out his hair. Omi left the towel near him and moved to finish fixing breakfast.

"You didn't have to get up so early, Ken," he said, taking some eggs from the fridge. "Ayan changed his mind and decided we could keep the shop closed today."

"Where is 'Ayan,' anyway?"

"I peeked in his room this morning and it was empty. He must have gone out really early. Yohji's door is locked, so I know _he's_ still asleep."

"I think he's sick. Did he take a hit last night?"

"Why?"

"I heard him groaning when I passed by on my way to the shower."

"Oh no! I'll go check on him."

"On who?" Yohji, looking cheerful and well-rested, not to mention completely uninjured, was coming down the stairs.

"On you!"

"Me? _Ken's_ the one drowning himself in the sink!"

"Did you get hurt last night?" the athlete asked, turning off the water and wrapping the towel around his head.

"I'm better than that!" the blonde tossed his head proudly. "Why would you ever doubt it?"

Ken frowned. "You were groaning."

"I was?" Yohji blinked several times before something seemed to occur to him. He fought a smile with obvious effort. "Oh. I ah…stubbed my toe."

"Is _that_ what you're calling it now?" Ken asked dryly.

It took Omi a minute longer to understand, but That Look on Yohji's face usually only meant one thing.

"Oh!" the youngest Weiss gasped suddenly.

"The best part of waking up!" Yohji sing-songed, going for the coffee pot.

"You'll go blind!" Ken warned, looking disgusted.

The blonde only laughed.

For some reason, when Aya came down the stairs a little later, he laughed even harder.

"Ayan, where have you been?" Omi asked in surprise as Yohji howled with amusement. "Your room was empty. I thought you'd left!"

He grunted, sent a glare at Yohji, and went for the coffee.

He never would answer.

* * *

tbc

Preview for next chapter: Weiss discusses families, Yohji likes soft fabrics, and our boys violate some very important things in the Krittiker handbook.

Response to Unsigned Reviews: There were none. Shame on you. (sticks out tongue)


	8. Chapter 7: Perspectives III

Chapter Seven

I was astounded by the response last chapter. It's so good to see that there's some of us Weiss fans still kicking in the community! Thank you very much for the encouragement.

I'm thinking of opening an "Omi" thread in my forum, _Would you like analysis with those fries?_ so be on the lookout.

Chapter Seven

Perspectives III

* * *

Yohji had found, in the short course of their arrangement, that there was almost nothing he liked more than Aya wearing soft clothes.

It was an odd thought, but a true one.

The man's body was so hard, after all. Nearly too thin, nothing but small, wiry muscles and pale, smooth skin.

And if it was absolutely necessary that all that be covered up, then Yohji preferred for it to be with something soft. The feel of some soft material sliding against that skin was almost a bigger turn-on than anything else.

And the robe Aya had worn to bed last night had been silk.

The memory made Yohji shiver with pleasure, and the action earned Yohji a suspicious look from Ken.

The blonde hadn't been lying last night. For one of the few times in his life, love god Yohji Kudoh really had been too tired for sex. Fortunately, that hadn't been what his lover had wanted from him last night.

But even though he had been exhausted, and really only gotten a pathetically few hours of sleep, Yohji had woken early, horny, and full of energy.

And what an amazing sight it was to wake to wake to find Aya Fujimiya asleep in his arms, the cold beauty of his face thawed into something peaceful and soft, his robe fallen back to display a pale thigh. His arm had held Yohji's arm secure around him with as strong a grip as it had held the night before, and Yohji knew that neither of them had moved an inch while they slept.

"It's been such a long time since we've all shared a meal!" Omi said brightly, beaming at them all.

"Just one big happy family," Yohji indulged his youngest teammate with a grin. The boy tries so hard, he knew, to keep them all connected, and when Yohji was in such a good mood, it was only fair that he spread it. "Guess that makes me papa Yotan."

"And who's the mommy?" Ken asked dryly. "Aya?"

Yohji couldn't smother his grin, no matter how hard Aya glared.

"If Aya's the mommy," he decided, "Then daddy wants some sugar."

Aya left the table, his breakfast uneaten.

"Guess mommy's having his time of the month," Yohji shrugged.

Omi was laughing, still enjoying their game despite the fact that Aya refused to play along. Yohji knew that the youngest Weiss was trying to create a fun, warm memory to keep them all connected in the future.

"Okay, Yotan, then what about me?" he asked, plying him with an extra serving of bacon and a coffee refill. "Or Ken?"

"You know you're the baby, Omikins."

"I can't be the angsty teen?"

"Even if you tried."

He attempted to look insulted, but was still laughing, and so the effect was somewhat ruined.

"And Ken?"

"Ken's the no-good, beer-bellied uncle who ruins our credit."

Omi howled with pleased laughter. Ken only rolled his eyes, looking somewhat amused.

Yohji didn't try to question why waking up with Aya had put him in such a good mood. That was the purpose of their arrangement, after all. They used each other to make themselves feel good. If it _didn't_ work so well, they wouldn't bother. It certainly hadn't been the first time Aya had wanted his body for nothing more than a pair of arms. He got in snuggly moods sometimes, and never explained them, and Yohji was far past getting surprised over it.

It was the first time they'd woken together, though. Perhaps that was the difference. Aya hadn't left in the middle of the night, or woken Yohji and forced him to leave. Yohji had a deep appreciation for beauty, and Aya was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen in his life. The chance to look at him when he was so peaceful and unaware and defenseless…Yohji had enjoyed it.

And when Aya had at last stirred, opened those gorgeous eyes, and looked at Yohji, the blonde had been sure to make his appreciation known.

"It's so weird that we all got up so early on our day off," Omi said. "I guess we're just used to it. What are you guys gonna do with your free day?"

"Probably go back to bed," Yohji tried to keep his tone casual, but couldn't stop a grin.

"I think there's a game on," Ken mumbled, shrugging.

"Oh! Can I watch it with you?"

"You don't have homework to catch up on?"

"I deserve a lazy day, too!" he pointed out. "Anyway, I can do it and watch at the same time. I'll make snacks!"

Yohji stood and took his plates to the sink as the two began to debate whether or not to make a run to the store.

"Did you send your report to Krittiker already?" Yohji asked, the thought occurring to him suddenly. If there was one thing that could ruin this day, it was work.

"I did it before I went to bed," Omi answered. "I haven't gotten a response yet."

"Well, maybe that's a good sign."

"It's not like you to worry about the mission when you don't have to."

"I just don't want someone showing up at noon expecting me to work when I've already got a buzz going." Yohji waved at the two, and headed back upstairs.

Aya's bedroom door was closed, but not locked. Yohji tapped on it, then let himself in.

One look at the small man, however, and Yohji knew his suggestion that they spend the day naked would probably not be well received. Aya was sitting on his bed, hands in his lap and eyes far away. Around him were several neat stacks – the maps, reposts, and photos they'd been using to try to track down Schrient.

All useless now, of course. Schwarz had taken Aya's sister, and the men of Weiss didn't have even the slightest idea where to find her now.

"I don't know what to do with myself," Aya spoke quietly, surprising him. He hadn't been sure the small man had even noticed his entrance.

"Yeah?"

"I can't visit her…I…can't look for her."

"Is that what was bothering you last night?"

"No. Maybe. I…don't know."

"I'm going to lock the door and come sit with you. Are you going to get angry? I'm gonna do it either way, but a warning would be nice."

His attempt at humor only earned a blank look, so he followed through – turning the lock on the doorknob and crossing to the bed. Aya stared at him, hostile, when he moved a stack of papers to make room for himself, but didn't speak.

"Look, I know what you're going through."

"Kudoh."

"I mean, I've never been in the exact situation or anything, but I understand what it feels like when you want to do something but can't. I understand how shitty it feels to…feel helpless."

"There was something wrong about the mission last night."

Yohji blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd expected from Aya, but that wasn't it.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't _know_. That's what's _bothering_ me." Aya began to gather up the papers with sharp, angry movements.

"So…you were trying to distract yourself by focusing on something else, only…"

He stopped as he found himself faced with the full force of that furious violet glare.

"You aren't my therapist, Kudoh," he snapped coldly. "You aren't fucking me because I'm lonely, or because I want someone to talk to. I don't need you to take my burdens from me."

"Gods, would you _unclench_?"

Aya stared at him.

"Are you _that_ afraid you're going to lose control of the situation, Aya?" Yohji, oddly enough, was more annoyed than angry. If Aya had been anyone else, he would have known how to handle him. Most lovers, after all, _wanted_ to pretend that they had some kind of feelings for one another, even when they both knew it was only a fling. Most lovers _didn't_ want constant reassurance that they were _not_ growing close.

It was frustrating as hell trying to navigate the impossible avenues of Aya's mind.

"You're a part of Weiss – your problems have an effect on all of us. If I care anything about you, it's only in that capacity, all right? _Fuck_, Aya…"

"I don't want you to try to comfort me."

"Stubborn ass. That's what people _do_, you idiot."

He looked down at his lap. Hesitating. Unsure.

"You're trying to get close," he accused at last.

"Aya…"

"You won't be able to convince me otherwise."

"Why the _hell_ would I want to get close?" he demanded. "You're letting me fuck you and don't expect anything more than that. You _don't_ want a relationship. What more would anyone want? I'd be an idiot if I wanted to throw that away!"

"No. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't true. The fact you're so blind just makes it more dangerous."

"You're gorgeous, sweetheart, but I think I can resist you. You want me to promise? Fine. I promise not to care about your life, beliefs, or opinions, not to pay any attention to learning anything about you, and not to care about anything other than your body and the dirty things I can do with it.:

Aya jerked, staring at him for several long moments before looking away. He smiled.

"You're impossible…Yohji."

The use of his first name meant that he'd done a good job with his argument. Aya was beginning to lower his hackles.

"I think this is the weirdest conversation I've ever had in my life," Yohji sighed and pulled a hand back through his hair. It needed to be washed. "I'm usually trying to _hide_ the fact that I'm a selfish, horny bastard, not fighting to _prove_ it."

"I don't want someone who's going to get confused."

"Hell…I guess there's no point in hiding my reasons for coming up here then, is there? Off day. No work. You wanna…?"

Aya actually laughed at this. He hid his face in his hands, trying to fight his helpless mirth.

"That's right – one track mind, baby." Yohji slid his arm around the smaller man and leaned his body close. "I promise you that you won't be able to think about _anything_ else all day," he murmured warmly.

Aya looked at him, the warmth of his amusement and his smile transforming his cold beauty into something radiant and breathtaking.

"I think that's exactly what I need," he agreed softly.

"You want to meet me in the shower?" Yohji suggested, trailing his fingers along Aya's back.

"The shower?" the smaller man shivered at the light touch.

"As good a place as any…get clean before we get…you know…_dirty_." Yohji's lips brushed Aya's neck as his hand began to try to inch its way down the back of his jeans. He was almost willing to give up the shower plan in favor of staying exactly where they were.

Then a knock came at the door.

"Ayan?"

They were both frozen, silent, for a few moments. Omi tried the knob, and Yohji gave himself a moment to feel thankful he had remembered to lock it.

"Ayan, will you let me in, please?"

"…why?"

"I need to ask you something. Please – don't make me yet through the door."

Yohji was already moving, without having to be asked. No one could argue with Omi for long, after all, and keeping their arrangement a secret was something important to the both of them. They knew without having to discuss it that their teammates wouldn't approve of what they were doing.

Aya moved to answer the door as Yohji laid himself down on the floor in the space between the bed and the wall. He heard the door open, but it was several moments before either Aya or Omi spoke.

"Is someone in here with you?"

"No."

"I thought I heard voices."

Aya didn't answer.

"What do you want?" he demanded at last.

"Oh! Sorry! Um…Ken and I are going to the store – do you want anything?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay. Um…do you know where Yohji went? I wanted to ask him, too."

"He went out."

"Oh…okay then. I guess we're leaving…are you sure you don't want anything?"

Again, Aya was silent. Yohji imagined him glaring at the youngest Weiss, and fought the urge to laugh.

Yohji and Aya waited at the window until they saw Ken and Omi drive away, and then it was _Aya_ who pulled _Yohji_ down the hall for their 'shower.'

* * *

"I think Aya's seeing someone in secret." Omi said, so suddenly that the sound of his voice made Ken jump.

The athlete glanced at him.

"You think?" he asked doubtfully.

"Ken! Please keep your eyes on the road!"

Guiltily, he did, jerking the wheel as the car began to drift to the side.

"You don't think he's been acting strange?" Omi asked at last, as soon as he was sure his friend wasn't about to kill them both.

"Well…yeah, but Aya's always strange. If you ask me, it's Yohji whose been acting really off lately."

"Yotan? No, he's always that way."

"Well…yeah…he's probably got someone, too, though, don't you think? He hasn't gone out in a while."

"Well, it makes Aya mad when he does, and I _did_ ask them to try to stop fighting so much."

"I really find it hard to picture _Aya_ dating anyone, though," Ken mused after several moments of silence. "Yohji I expect to be sneaking around, but Aya…"

"He's found people he likes before. He's not completely heart-dead."

Ken shrugged, slightly preoccupied with trying to picture what kind of girl someone like Aya would go for. He found he couldn't.

"His door's either always locked, or he's out of the house without telling anyone," Omi said.

"Yohji too," Ken pointed out, stopping for a red light.

They were silent for several minutes, waiting for the light to change. It seemed that when the thought occurred to them, it happened simultaneously.

"You think - ?"

"But - !"

"But how else - ?"

"Why - ?"

They stared at each other, trying to process the idea. The light turned green, and Ken began driving again only as the other cars began to honk.

"I've never seen Yohji date a man," he muttered at last.

"Well…Aya's pretty, like a girl, so maybe…?"

No need to say that someone like Yohji probably _wouldn't_ care who he slept with, so long as the partner was attractive.

"Why didn't they tell us if they were going to mess around?" Ken demanded at last, still reluctant to accept the idea. "I mean, don't we deserve some sort of warning?"

"Maybe they were afraid we would tell Krittiker and they'd get split up," Omi mused. "Ken…do you think they're…in love?"

Gods…what if they _were_?

"Krittiker hates it when active agents are getting it on," he mumbled. "It was in the handbook and everything."

"They would rip Weiss to shreds if they found out…" Omi agreed.

"What…what are we supposed to do? Do we let them know we know? Should we tell them to break up?"

"Aya and Yohji are our friends," the younger assassin's voice had gone quiet and thoughtful. "I want them to be happy."

"Yeah? So?"

"So…we should support them."

"Support," he repeated.

"We can help them keep it a secret, don't you think?" he asked. He sounded excited now. "And if Krittiker finds out, then we can protect them! We can…we should throw them a party!"

"…Krittiker?"

"No! Ayan and Yotan! The love birds!" Omi gave him a wide smile. "We can tell them that we know and that we want to help them be together!"

"What if they're _not_ in love?" Ken asked, still struggling with the idea that wild playboy Yohji Kudoh and cold, solitary Aya Fujimiya could ever find any reason to fall in love. "What if…I don't know…what if they're just screwing around?"

"Screwing around?"

"For fun, you know? Or to distract them from other things?"

"Ken, that's sick!" Omi scolded.

"They're just so different!"

"Opposites attract!"

"They don't have anything in common!"

"They have _love_ in common!"

"Omi!"

"They have _everything_ in common!" Omi insisted passionately. "Yotan needs someone to let him love them, and Ayan needs to _let_ someone love him. They're perfect for each other!"

"…I'm beginning to worry about you, Omi."

"Ken, be serious!" they were nearing the grocery store now. As he pulled into the parking lot, Ken frowned himself wondering how much trouble he would be in if he accidentally 'forgot' and left Omi at the store.

"I _am_ serious," he insisted. "You're the one jumping to insane conclusions, and you're just going to end up disappointed or embarrassed."

"I am not!"

"You saw how much it hurt for Yohji to give up his hopes of Neu being Asuka, and you want to imagine that he's moving on because you don't like to think of him suffering." Ken turned off the car and got out, continuing his lecture as soon as Omi began to follow. "You know how alone Aya is, especially without his sister, and so it makes you feel better to pretend that he has some mystic connection with Yohji."

"You're wrong," Omi gave him a placid, knowing grin and reached for a basket. "They're in love – and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure they live happily ever after!"

"And what if I'm right?" Ken challenged. "What if they _aren't_ in love?"

"Then," Omi smiled, "I'll _make_ them fall in love."

* * *

tbc

Once again, major thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. Anyone who can think of any way to keep the fandom strong, please let me know.

Preview for next chapter: Esset pushes the mission forward

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - there are lots of walls...I write my stories the way I play racing video games, if you know what I mean. lol.

jb - Thank you!

Henna - Thanks! Hope you enjoyed!

glinwulf - lol. I guess he has more talents than we thought...

One last time - Thanks everyone! Hope to see you next time!


	9. Chapter 8: Detour

Chapter Eight:

Major thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. Your support it more important than you'll ever know.

Chapter Eight:

Detour

* * *

"Damn it! How much longer is this gonna take?" Schuldig threw down the fashion magazine he'd been trying to read and rose, pacing the carpet in long, irritated strides.

Farfarello's eyes looked like a hunting wolf as he watched him, smiling vaguely. "An expectant father," he mused with one of those deep, private laughs that always made the back of Nagi's hair want to stand up. "That's what you look like. What if a dragon devours your babe?"

Crawford looked up from whatever it was he was working on, but seemed to decide that the Irishman was still in his 'safe zone' and didn't need to be restrained, medicated, or distracted, because he returned to his task only after watching for him for a few seconds.

"This sitting around waiting makes me _sick_!" Schuldig snarled, turning so swiftly that, for just a moment, his hair flared out behind him in an orange arc.

Farfarello laughed again.

"You should hide the stars he swept aside," he advised seriously. "What are you if they decorate your hair?"

"Weiss only took _Kontrolleur's_ information a month ago," Nagi sighed, praying the telepath didn't get the madman riled up with his ranting. "Not even the team Arrow has working on it is ready to proceed yet, and _they_ have Talents. It's going to take Krittiker a lot longer than that."

"I'm so fucking _bored_!" the telepath complained.

"Surely," Crawford said slowly, "You aren't being so foolish as to want anyone to _rush_ into such a dangerous mission?"

"Don't call me 'Shirly'." Schuldig said automatically.

Crawford only stared at him, either not understanding the lame joke, or not approving of it. Very possibly both, Nagi thought ruefully.

"Can't we do anything to…push…this along?" Schuldig asked hopefully.

"I don't get along with the Past," Crawford answered darkly.

Pouting and chewing a thumbnail, Schuldig returned to his pacing.

Crawford sighed heavily.

"All right," he said, earning the telepath's eager attention. "If you really want to help things move along, then I do have an alternate mission for you. If you wish, you can go to Hollister tonight."

Schuldig opened his mouth to agree, then stopped, looking suspicious.

"Go to him for what?"

"Some physical exertion would, I'm certain, help him relax. A man can make remarkable progress when his body is well taken care of."

Crawford neither blinked, nor flinched when, with a loud oath, Schuldig flung a vase at his head.

"I'm not teasing you, Schuldig," Crawford informed him softly, eyes narrowed and dangerous. "Consider this your final warning. I know that Arrow is quite fond of you – question me again, and I will assign you to his service."

The telepath's eyes blazed in fury, but Crawford met his fierce gaze calmly and held it. Nagi felt the Schwarz connection open, and knew Crawford was passing along how terribly, dreadfully serious he was.

The anger in Schuldig's eyes became terror, and he looked away quickly.

"My objective for this mission is of the highest importance," Crawford said slowly, softly. He closed his laptop and set it aside, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "The closer I come to reaching my goals, the less I am willing to suffer the foolishness of near-sighted children."

He looked at each of them in turn, using the force of his glare alone to silently impart how utterly serious he was. Schuldig, who had drifted over to the window and now stood, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his slacks as he glared at nothing, was the only one who refused to look at him.

"My visions have shown me the tools I need in order to see my plans come to fruition, and I have hand-picked you for that reason," he continued at last. "But any of you can still be replaced. Don't forget that your lives mean much less to me than my goals."

They were silent. Nagi fought the urge to shift uncomfortably under his stare. He owed far too much to the man to ever betray him, and though he had far less experience in the world than any of the others, he also knew that in the workings of Esset, Bradley Crawford was an incredibly good leader. He had to remember to be thankful.

But Schuldig was important to him, too. The older Talent looked after him, made him laugh. Schuldig had been the one to teach him how to block his sleeping mind from nightmares.

_He doesn't bother me, kid_.

Schuldig's voice, filled with a bitter amusement, blew through his mind.

_You're lying,_ Nagi accused silently.

He saw Schuldig shrug – a small, slight motion that none of the others noticed.

At last accepting that his message had been received, Crawford picked up his laptop once more.

"When I get the signal, we will move," he stated as he began to type again. "No sooner than that."

"Did your visions tell you that?" Schuldig asked sullenly.

He sent him a glare over his glasses.

"Common sense told me that," he stated coldly.

The telepath heaved an annoyed sigh and slid open the window, crawling outside onto the narrow balcony. Nagi watched for a moment as his teammate searched his pockets for a cigarette.

"Crawford…" Nagi hesitated. "We all care about it every bit as much as you do. Our vengeance, our freedom…he's fought just as hard as the rest of us. Do you really think he would honestly try something knowing it could hurt us, just because he's bored?"

Crawford ignored him, his silence stony. Nagi crossed his arms.

"He's just eager. We all are. And he's tired of being cooped up – again, just like the rest of us." Nagi grabbed the lighter and the carton of cigarettes Schuldig hadn't yet realized he had left inside, and went to join the other assassin on the balcony.

Schuldig accepted the objects with a grateful smile and lit up without hesitation. He gave no indication as to whether or not he'd heard the boy defend him.

"You think any of this is worth it?" Schuldig asked at last, exhaling loudly.

He didn't need to explain himself. Though Crawford would love for them to believe otherwise, the fact was that the future was too uncertain for even his most detailed visions to fully predict. Few of his far-reaching visions ever fit every detail into reality. There was always at least some small thing that surprised him.

It was entirely possible that, despite all of his careful plotting and planning, something unforeseen could steal their freedom from them.

"Do you think you could ever go back?" Nagi asked.

Schuldig shuddered.

"No."

"Crawford's plan is our only hope. Even if it fails…"

Schuldig looked at him, an odd smile on his face.

"Is that optimism I hear?"

"D…don't be an idiot."

He laughed – a wild sound – and shifted toward the railing. He watched the traffic flying by below them with hungry eyes, reminding Nagi of a dog who knew his leash was too short to allow him to play with the other pups.

He didn't move as Crawford called coldly to them through the window.

"I've decided to take the whole team when I go to meet with Hollister today," he stated. "Be ready to go in an hour."

"Did you See something?" Nagi asked. Crawford hesitated.

"No," he said at last, "But it will come soon."

* * *

It was almost too cute, the way Bradley always acted whenever he felt that he was close to fulfilling some goal. The serious, tightly-wound young man became even moreso, to the point where his nerves wore themselves thin and _anything_ had the potential to set him off.

His sullen-faced team was clearly bearing the brunt of this stress, which only amused Aaron all the more. He remembered Bradley, so serious and studious in school, and how he had infuriated and insulted classmates whenever he felt that his visions were leading him to some important thing.

"As you can see," he said, leading the small strike team through the labyrinth of underground labs Esset had commissioned years ago. Because of the potential use of their tests to the Elders, all other projects had been put on hold, and complete authority had been given to him to make use of the labs. "Our progress has been excellent – we weren't expecting to get so far so quickly."

"So you've found a handler for _Kontrolleur_, then?" Bradley asked.

"Two, actually," Aaron gave his friend a smile over his shoulder. "A duo of Seers is proving much more reliable than the single one used the last time _Kontrolleur_ was set into motion."

"Two?"

"You sound so surprised! But I assure you, Bradley, that there is no petty competition going on among my people. I have taken measures to ensure that those kinds of problems don't occur."

"You…drugged them?"

It was the youngest Schwarz – a quiet, solemn-eyed boy – who asked, and Aaron couldn't help but to laugh at the question.

"Drugging Talents is risky business, little one."

"Fortunate, then, that you have so much practice with it," Schuldig stated darkly.

Aaron looked back at the pretty telepath with a smile, and his amusement only grew at the sullen glare he received in return.

It had been years since Bradley Crawford had taken the self-named young telepath Schuldig into his group and away from the guidance of his Esset masters. The defiant way in which Schuldig had chosen to present himself – using a brightly-colored scarf to push back his thick, wild mane of hair so that his pretty face remained free, wearing flashy, close-fitting clothes to show off the long, clean lines of his body – had caught Aaron's attention immediately.

All of it screamed "look at how beautiful I am – and you can't do a damned thing about it."

How could he not, then, remind the stupid boy at every opportunity of how very fragile his current freedom really was – how very likely it was that he would one day find himself reassigned, forced back under the guidance of whoever Esset chose. He wanted to reinforce that reminder – and hoped Bradley would soon accept his proposal to borrow the telepath for a while.

"In any case," he said at last, turning his attention back to his old friend. "It shouldn't be long until we are ready to proceed – I must say how pleased I am to find you so interested. You were quite disapproving earlier."

He smiled coolly. "Well," he said softly, "Happily, I Saw the error of my ways."

"Come, I've more to show you," Aaron chuckled.

* * *

As they moved to follow Hollister into another room, Crawford's hand lashed out and caught hold of Schuldig's arm, holding him back.

"We'll catch up," he told Hollister, trying very hard to hide a lingering headache. His friend smiled and inclined his head, and motioned Nagi and Farfarello through the next pair of doors.

The moment they were alone, Schuldig wrenched out of his grasp and rounded angrily on him. Whatever he had been about to say, it died on his lips at the expression on Crawford's face.

"Your tour is over, Schuldig," he said softly. "I have a new mission for you."

The telepath paled. "Brad…you can't! I've been _trying_…!"

"Not that," he assured him, "Go to Krittiker."

"Krittiker?"

"Don't get caught," he ordered. "Don't let anyone even suspect that you've been near…but help them along. They _must_ be ready to proceed as soon as Hollister does."

"What did you See?" Schuldig asked.

"That's none of your concern," Crawford shoved him toward the exit. "Follow your orders. If you fail me, Schuldig, I won't _need_ Hollister's help to make sure you regret the day you were born!"

"I don't need _your_ help for that, either," he shot angrily, pushing open the door to the exit.

Alone at last, Crawford closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to ease away the last of his headache. He didn't have time to worry about offended telepaths.

Everything had finally begun.

* * *

tbc

Apologies for the lack of update last week. From now until the Fall semester, expect irregularity. It's difficult for me to update during the summer, but I'm going to try.

Next chapter: Manx and Birman crash a party

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - Your comment about Ken made me giggle. I love him, but he can be a doofus like that. (grins) Thanks!

glinwulf - Omi has issues.

Henna - Thanks!


	10. Chapter 9: Inheritance

Chapter Nine

Inheritance

* * *

The cake was one of those store-bought things, covered in about an inch-thick layer of diabetic-coma-inducing, pure sugar frosting. There were balloons tied to every chair, and a large banner taped to the cabinets with the word 'congratulations' printed on it in slightly crooked lettering.

In the several moments of frozen silence which had passed since Aya and Yohji had answered Omi's stern summons to meet him in the kitchen, only to be met by an enthusiastic cry of "surprise!" from their youngest teammate and a face full of confetti from Ken.

When Yohji blinked – slowly – he dislodged sparkly confetti from his eyelashes.

"Mmmmmkay…" the blonde said in a slow drawl.

"I'll cut the cake!" Omi offered brightly, turning to get a knife and a stack of paper plates from the counters. "Ken, will you get the ice cream out of the…?" he stopped, noticing that Aya had turned and began to walk away. "Ayan! Where…where are you going?"

"The shop."

"I closed us down for the afternoon!" he assured him cheerfully. "I don't want anyone to miss your party!"

"Aya, is it your birthday or something?" Yohji asked. He wondered if he was supposed to know when Aya's birthday was. He wondered if he was supposed to get him a present.

"No," Aya answered shortly.

"Yotan," Omi said, "It's your party, too! It's a party for the both of you!"

"Come on," Ken urged. "Can't you guess what we're celebrating?"

Aya and Yohji exchanged glances. Aya was every bit as lost as Yohji was.

"The chance to eat cake?" Yohji asked, sure that he and his team leader didn't have any important dates in common.

"No, silly!" Omi laughed. "It's your anniversary!"

"Anniversary?"

"Well, not _literally_ ," Ken amended, "Because we had no way of figuring that out."

"What anniversary?" Yohji asked, accepting a plate of cake from Omi.

"I guess…literally…it's the anniversary of the day Omi and I figured out that you and Aya were dating," Ken said thoughtfully.

Yohji froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

"What?" Aya demanded sharply.

"Ken! You know they aren't _dating_ !" Omi scolded. "They're in _love_ !"

* * *

He flinched away at the sudden touch of something cold against his cheek, and stared at the can of soda for several moments before trailing his glare up the long arm to Yohji's face.

"Take it already!" the blonde ordered, his voice an odd mixture of amusement and annoyance. Aya did as told, holding the cold can between his hands and watching as Yohji, armed with a beer and a cigarette, sat down beside him on the step.

"What…happened?" Aya managed to ask at last.

It was several moments before the blonde would answer. He lit his cigarette, and though Aya crinkled his nose in distaste at the smell, he didn't ask him to put it out.

"Pretty sunset," Yohji said at last. His sunglasses hid his eyes from Aya as he stared out across the back parking area of the Weiss house, watching the sun as it dipped below the line of buildings cluttered on the horizon.

"Kudoh."

"I told them that they were right," he sighed reluctantly. "I told them that we were madly in love, and that you were just upset because you were afraid of anyone finding out…basically, I lied my ass off. I hope you're appreciative. I liked my ass."

"Kudoh…"

"Stop last-naming me and drink your soda, damn it." Yohji groaned and flicked ash. "It makes them ridiculously happy to think that we care about each other, and it doesn't hurt us any to let them think it, so take the stick outta your ass and eat some cake, damn it."

Aya popped the top on his can, but didn't drink. He stared down at his hands, feeling blank and confused and lost.

"Am I a monster," he asked at last, "For using you this way?"

"Well, let's look at this seriously, if you're going to fixate," Yohji took a long drink from his beer. "Worrying about whether or not any of us are monsters is a complete waste of time, first of all. And it's not like you're forcing me to do anything against my will."

"I wonder if I was ever as innocent as Omi is," Aya reflected, remembering the joy on his youngest teammate's face as he had congratulated them on 'finding love.' He, just like Yohji, hadn't had the heart to contradict the boy.

"Omi's not innocent, sweetheart," Yohji began to reach for him, but the sound of tires of gravel stopped him. By the time the expensive black car came to a stop behind the Weiss house, the blonde had already risen and moved to help the car's occupants out.

"Why is the shop closed so early?" Aya heard Manx ask. He kept his eyes on his lap, turning his soda can slowly in his hands and forcing Yohji to come up with an answer on his own.

"Omi made a really good grade on an exam, so we threw him a party," the blonde said, laughing. "Why, hello there, Birman. Good to see you again. Does this mean we'll be having the pleasure of getting our missions from the _both_ of you from now on?"

"Don't get too excited, Kudoh," Manx warned coolly. "We've decided to be temporary partners because we've had trouble finding a suitable agent who's free at the moment."

"Ooooh, 'partners'." Yohji's voice was full of suggestion. "That's _sexy_ . You ladies ever need a few extra bucks, I'm sure you could make a real nice 'documentary' about your partnership. I volunteer to be the pizza boy who shows up ten minutes in and watches."

"You're going to get written up again, Kudoh," Birman warned. "Fujimiya? Are you feeling all right?"

"…fine." Aya rose and moved to hold open the door for them, although he couldn't manage even the smallest of smiles. They were greeted warmly by Ken and Omi, and offered cake, and didn't notice when Yohji sidled up next to Aya. The blonde gave a quiet, deep chuckle.

"Back to work I guess," he said softly. Though he stood an appropriate distance away, he _felt_ closer. "Good thing we got plenty of play in while we had the chance, eh?"

Aya gave him a flat look, pushing past and back into the kitchen.

The lack of a video presentation and the presence of cake meant that Manx and Birman were more than willing to be convinced to give their mission briefing upstairs. Aya silently helped bring in extra chairs and clear off room on the table. He took the seat next to Yohji only because it was what Omi and Ken would expect.

"Well, first of all," Manx said, pausing for a bite of food, "You boys should know that you have Krittiker dancing for joy right now."

"What kind of dancing?" Yohji asked, raising his eyebrows. When he pulled out his carton of cigarettes, Aya promptly took them away.

Manx ignored the suggestive question. "The information you took from the Esset lab is a treasure trove, and your suggestions in regards to the code were just what we needed to speed things along."

"I'm so glad we were on the right track!" Omi said.

Birman licked frosting from her fingertips, then reached to open the folder she had brought with her. Aya's breath caught loudly in his throat at the sight of the photograph of his sister that rested on the top of a stack of papers.

"_That_ was in their system?" Yohji demanded as Aya reached for it. Under the table and out of the sight of Manx and Birman, his hand came to rest on Aya's thigh.

The photo wasn't one Aya had ever seen before. His sister was so pale, so fragile, laying bare on a cold-looking medical table, different instruments and machines connected to her too-small body.

His hands were shaking as he looked up at Manx and Birman, and he barely noticed when Yohji's hand tightened against his leg.

"We didn't know any of this involved her until you gave us access to the information on the lab's computers," Manx informed him, unflinching under his glare.

"You didn't have to put the picture right on top of the pile!" Yohji spat. Somewhere in the back of Aya's mind, the redhead was surprised by how angry his lover sounded. "You didn't even try to prepare him! Why the hell does he need to see this, anyway?"

"Krittiker wanted to be sure…" Birman hesitated. "To be sure that Weiss would accept the mission."

Slowly, Aya crumpled the photograph, crushing it between his hands. "Where," he demanded, voice gone cold and emotionless and lethal, "Is my sister?"

"The location of their facilities was one of the things that we have still failed to discover."

For a moment, Aya found himself determined to raze the entire city – simply destroy everything until he found his sister.

Then Yohji's hand tightened again – hard enough to bruise.

"So does this really have anything to do with her," Yohji demanded, "Or did you just want to catch our attention?"

"You seem to be taking this almost as seriously as Fujimiya is, Kudoh."

"This is sick. It's low, even for Krittiker, and I'm fucking pissed."

Manx was the first to look away.

"It involves both siblings," she said reluctantly.

"Then get to the fucking point."

"If you read the print-outs we've brought, you'll find several passages that refer to…to Aya's sister…in reference to some important medical tests." Birman's voice was steady, but she kept her eyes locked on her cake. "What those tests were or what the results are remains a mystery; however, we _do_ know that Esset is very excited about whatever it is they found."

"They want to perform more, apparently riskier tests, but for some reason they aren't willing to use your sister for them," Manx continued when the other woman fell silent. "And since you are currently beyond their reach, they've decided to go looking for other family members."

"There _are_ no other family members," the small swordsman glared.

"Not alive," Birman agreed apologetically, earning an annoyed look from her partner.

"Esset has…other resources," Manx said reluctantly.

"_Kontrolleur_ !"

Omi and Ken had been silent this entire time, but they earned everyone's attention at the youngest Weiss' sudden outburst.

"Is that their alternative?" Omi asked. "So, then, do we know what it is?"

"Yes – and we've managed to duplicate the technology to create our own."

"What are we talking about?" Ken asked. "I'm lost."

"There were letters about something called _Kontrolleur_ all over the lab." Yohji's voice had gone quiet and thoughtful, they way it did whenever he was getting into his 'detective mode.' "We weren't sure if it was a person or a machine."

"It's a machine," Birman answered, "But sources tell us the original is highly intelligent to the point of near-human awareness. It has the capability to reach out past the Timeline in either direction and to drop off or pick up people or items."

"Esset…has a time machine?" Ken asked flatly. "You expect us to believe that?"

"It's much more than a time machine!" Manx snapped. "To even make use of the original _Kontrolleur_ requires the help of an extremely talented Seer with the ability to accurately predict how actions in the past can affect the future."

"Krittiker's version of the machine is much less powerful than Esset's," Birman said, "While the original can supposedly take any agent anywhere, our scientists have only been able to key it to follow the original."

Manx stood and crossed the kitchen, dumping the remains of her cake in the trash.

"Esset," she said, "Is planning to activate _Kontrolleur_ in two days. As our machine can only function while theirs is in action, this will be our only opportunity to follow them wherever it is they've decided to go. Weiss's mission is to come to the Krittiker safe house where we have built our version of the machine. You will don the clothing we have provided and will take only the provisions in our supplied bags. At ten, _Kontrolleur_ will be activated, and you will all be taken to the destination Esset has chosen."

"Once there," Birman continued for her, "You will find and protect Aya's ancestors, who Esset will be seeking."

"How will we get home?" Omi asked.

"We…we aren't sure. We think that when Esset calls back its people, you will be returned as well, but it's never been tested."

Aya rose. "I accept. Where is the safe house?"

"You will find the address listed in the mission file."

"But what if we can't get home?" Ken demanded.

"I accept, too," Yohji said."

"Am I the _only_ one who doesn't care about this not-being-able-to-come-back thing?"

Omi looked at Ken thoughtfully. "Not getting home safe…is a risk we take with every mission," he said quietly. "I'm also going to accept."

The mulish look on Ken's face meant he had more questions, but Aya had already made his decision. Not waiting to hear the rest, he went upstairs, throwing away the nightmarish picture of his sister along the way.

It was nearly an hour before Yohji came up to find him sitting in the dark in the blonde's bedroom, waiting for him. Aya flinched as he turned on the light, and closed his eyes quickly against the sudden brightness.

He heard the door close, the lock turn. Yohji didn't ask what he was doing in his room, or how he was feeling, or what he was thinking. He didn't speak at all.

Aya felt, rather than saw, Yohji sit beside him. The man's hand was gentle as he brushed Aya's hair back away from his face. Aya felt his lover's warm breath against his skin moments before Yohji's lips caressed his cheek, his jaw, his neck.

"What do you want?" Yohji asked softly, hooking a finger in the collar of Aya's shirt and pulling it aside so he could get at his collar bone.

Aya shivered and leaned into the touch of his lover.

"You left the light on," he accused quietly.

Yohji's hand skimmed down his chest to the hem of his shirt, slipping under to rest against his skin.

"I want to see you," he said, breath hot on Aya's neck. "Make sure I'm doing my job right…" his hand moved up under Aya's shirt, until his palm was resting just above Aya's heart and the garment was pushed up under his arms. "Is that all right?"

He nodded, somehow already unable to find his voice.

Yohji's other hand was in the hair at the back of his neck, tugging just enough to turn Aya's face toward him.

_This_ was what he needed, he thought as Yohji kissed him slowly, deeply. If he thought about Esset with his sister, performing experiments on her helpless body…thought about his sweet, playful sister so small and pathetic in that photo, suffering in silence, unable to wake or to scream, trapped in the care of monsters and completely out of his reach…

If he had to think about any of that – and he _would_ , if no one was there to stop him – he wouldn't be able to survive the night.

And then who would his sister have?

He opened his eyes as Yohji pulled away, stared into that strong, beautiful face as if seeing it for the first time.

"Your heart's pounding, sweetheart," Yohji said softly, fingers pressing softly into his chest.

Aya had always justified using the Yohji with the knowledge that the blonde was getting something out of it, too. Now, really for the first time, he felt gratitude. Without his arrangement with Yohji, he would be broken even more by now.

Something must have shown in his eyes, for although he didn't say a word, Yohji's expression changed. His hand slid out from under Aya's shirt and he cupped his face in both of his hands and kissed him, kissed him until all thoughts were burned away, and there was nothing left but Aya and his beautiful, skilled, enthusiastic lover.

The passion ignited between them like a flame, and he was tearing at Yohji's clothes, and the blonde man's hands and mouth were everywhere, and all Aya could think of was that this, _this_ was how the world should be – no obligations, no loss, no sorrow. Just lips that set his skin on fire, and hands that drove him mad, and a hard, strong body that made him arch and writhe and scream out in pleasure.

* * *

tbc

Next chapter: "I'm going to go see is Farfie can introduce me to any cool voices."

Sorry - no time for even the most rudimentary of editing, and no time for unsigned review response. Please forgive me - I love you and have a good summer.


	11. Chapter 10: Voices

This chapter is dedicated to everyone who was actually excited about the time machine.

I don't know. Yes. This chapter is more than weird. You have no idea. Yes, it continues to be weird for a while. Yes, the "possible crossover" I mentioned at the very beginning will begin to be put into play very soon, and I've no doubt the already small number of you reading this will drop even further. (Pause while authoress sobs and questions self for actually being _fond_ of these chapters.)

If it's any consolation for the undoubtable weirdness – there's some super fun character development coming up eventually. And fluff. Eventually.

Once again - no time to edit. Forgive me!

Chapter Ten:

Voices

* * *

"Damn it, how much longer? I gotta pee…"

"Yotan, you do _not_!" Omi sighed. "In fact, we were almost late because you decided you _had_ to go at the last minute."

"Maybe I have a medical condition!"

"Except Manx gave me the results of _everyone's_ latest physicals _yesterday_, and so I _know_ you're fine."

"I'm bored, all right?" the blonde snapped.

"How the hell is peeing supposed to be any more entertaining than waiting with the rest of us?" Len demanded, clearly also bored. He had been sulking ever since he'd realized that there was absolutely no way his soccer ball would fit into the Krittiker-supplied luggage. He tugged in irritation at the outfit that had been left for him. "Omi, I think there's something wrong with this stupid thing. It keeps riding up my…"

"Why does everyone complain to me?" the youngest Weiss interrupted with another sigh. "I am _not_ helping you with whatever problems you're having, Ken. I'm sorry, but I draw the line at assisting undergarment removal."

"Is it so hard to just check to make sure it's not backwards or something?"

As his two youngest teammates bickered, Yohji heaved his own sigh. He only caught himself fidgeting with his watch when Aya's hand clamped down over his wrist to stop the action. The small redhead didn't glare, but his warning was clear.

"Those baggy pants thingies look really hot on you, baby," Yohji said.

_That_ earned the man's glare. Aya snatched his hand back and turned away from him.

Yohji had never paid any intention in history class, and his family hadn't exactly been very culturally centered while he had been growing up. He knew that they were wearing old fashioned clothing, and that the other three Weiss boys looked very proper and traditional, but other than that he was lost. He barely knew the names of some of the things they were wearing, much less what time period those styles belonged to. When he'd asked, he'd only received flat stares and annoyed answers from his team.

He was dressed differently than the rest. Recognizable _pants_ – a little high waisted, but honest to goodness pants, nonetheless. For that alone he was thankful enough to ignore the uncomfortable waistcoat, jacket, or tie. At least, he thought it was supposed to be a tie.

"I guess they gave you that outfit because you look the most like a foreigner." Omi had said. He was just jealous he didn't have real pants. Or sturdy shoes or a nifty hat.

Yohji didn't care. He felt kind of spiffy in his new clothes, no matter what they were, and he thought he had gotten the better part of the deal. He was also enjoying the sight of Aya in costume. If only the other two weren't there…

"I don't think this thing is gonna work," Ken said, drifting over to the contraption in the center of the room. "I mean, it's held together with duct tape! Could they have _gone_ any more under budget?"

"Well…" Omi hesitated. "They _were_ in a hurry."

"Oh gods…" Yohji rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "We're gonna get fried, aren't we? I don't want to die a virgin!"

"You aren't a virgin."

He grinned wildly at Aya. "We better made absolutely _sure_. I mean, what if you're wrong?"

"Would you stop being an idiot?"

"Aw, Ken, do you think _you_ might be a virgin, too? Well, Aya's not going to have time to help the both of us, but maybe _Omi_ would…OW! _Shit_, Aya!"

Aya had swung the carrying case he had his sword in, and hit him in the shoulder. It hurt enough that he was _almost_ unable to make a dirty comment about it.

"I know you like it rough, babe," he managed, wincing, "But not in front of the kids!"

The sword case hit him again, right in the back.

Neither of the other assassins tried to stop him, or even offer their sympathy.

It was no wonder they were annoying each other. There was always a little nervousness before a new mission, and it was only amplified in this case by the element of the unknown of being told they were about to do the impossible. They were going to go back in time – _when, _they weren't sure – and might not even be able to come back, much less get there safely in the first place.

And they'd been standing in this tiny room that was empty except for them, their luggage, and the Krittiker version of _Kontrolleur_, for almost two hours, and they were all dressed in unfamiliar clothes that, at least in Yohji's opinion, weren't entirely comfortable.

He _wanted_ to get into a fight with someone. He wanted to fight or he wanted to fuck and why, oh why, hadn't he cornered Aya before leaving the house?

"Great," Ken mumbled, "Now _I_ need to pee."

"What, you want me to help you with that, too?" Omi grumbled. The youngest Weiss heaved a heavy sigh and pulled some of his luggage into his lap, hugging it to his chest and closing his eyes. "Look – we don't know when Esset's going to activate this thing. None of us can leave the room or he might get left behind."

"And what happens to us if Krittiker got the wrong date, or Esset changed their minds, or… Ow! Damn it, Aya! Stop hitting me!" somehow he managed to get hold of the sword case, and unbalanced the smaller man by pulling it toward him. Aya fought him, but he managed to pull him to him, pinning his arms in an embrace that was more for hisown safety than anything else. "I'm just trying to be realistic, okay?" he asked his other teammates. "I mean, how long should we wait here? You think they'd send someone to get us? How would they even know if it failed?"

"No, you have a good point, Yotan," Omi sighed. "Should we vote on it?"

"We wait as long as it takes!" Aya very nearly snarled. Yohji held on to him so that the smaller man's back was against his chest, and so he couldn't see the expression on his face…

But he had no doubt he was glaring.

"Sweetheart," Yohji kept his voice gentle, thankful that they had decided to let Ken and Omi think they were in love. "If the thing doesn't work, it's not gonna be any help to your sister."

Aya tried to bite him.

"We'll give it two more hours, and then we'll have to risk leaving the room so we can call Manx," Omi said reluctantly. "I'm sorry, Ayan, but you know he's right."

"Is it just me," Ken asked suddenly, "Or has Krittiker gotten really sucky lately?"

Yohji barked out a laugh.

"I'm serious!" the athlete insisted. "They went to a lot of trouble to get us to re-form the Weiss after Taketori, so I don't think they're _trying_ to set us up, but it seems like they've gotten really stingy with the information they give us. Or am I just crazy?"

"Well…" Yohji drawled lazily.

"I've actually been thinking the same thing," Omi admitted. "Uncle…I mean Persia…he did all he could to make sure we had all the tools we needed to succeed. Now it's like…"

"We're expendable." Aya stated coldly. He earned Omi and Ken's attention, and caused Yohji to tighten his arms around him – turning the hold into a true embrace. "You're seeing the true face of Krittiker now," he continued, uncaring that he was, in effect, forcing his youngest teammate to face the death of another childhood myth. "To them, any sacrifice is worth it if it's made in their quest to quell the Dark Beast. Your greatest weaknesses become their greatest weapons, because they see and feel nothing but their Greater Good."

"Ayan…"

"If you really think they're like that, then why are you still - ?" Ken's question cut off abruptly under the other man's fierce glare.

Even he should know _why_ Aya had come back to the Weiss.

An awkward silence fell among the group, and it seemed that no one wanted to be caught looking at anyone else. Yohji found himself resting his chin against Aya's shoulder, his how now such that the smaller man could have broken it any time he'd wanted to.

Aya didn't move, though. He was, ever so slightly, actually leaning _in_ to Yohji, and the blonde was no longer quite sure who was comforting who.

Omi and Ken's assumption of romantic involvement between the two eldest assassins was something Yohji was finding himself increasingly grateful for – particularly now, when it allowed him to hold his lover. Unexplainably, something about their conversation made him feel young, and sad, and scared. There was no sex behind his embrace; for the moment, Yohji felt more like a child clutching at a comfort object, believing it somehow held the power to protect him from the monsters lurking in the darkness, than like a grown man hugging his lover.

He watched Omi and Ken, and knew that they were struggling, trying to reconcile their loyalties to their employers with their loyalties to the team that was like their family. The ages between the four assassins weren't drastic, but watching them, Yohji felt as if Omi and Ken were eons younger than Aya or himself.

Maybe they just healed better than Yohji or Aya did.

"What if we can't get home?" Omi asked, and his voice sounded very small. "What will happen?"

"To us, or to Krittiker?" Yohji asked cynically. Weiss would adapt or die – those were their only options, and that was true no matter what time period they found themselves in. Aya, he realized, would probably rather die than find himself stuck in the past with no tie to his sister.

The man had made himself into a weapon whose only purpose was his sibling. He cared for his own health only to the extent necessary to keep him efficient and ready for his task. Cut off completely from his sister, and from his last, stubborn hope of finding her one day as happy and free as she had once been, he would slowly waste away into nothing.

The thought bothered Yohji more than he knew it should.

"Are we gonna end up in the same place Esset's ops get dropped – I mean, you know, assuming we survive?" Ken asked, shifting the subject away from the disturbing possibility of getting trapped in the past. He had crossed his arms and was staring with a dark scowl at the Krittiker _Kontrolleur_.

"Krittiker doesn't think the fact the two machines are connected will effect our drop point," Aya answered, voice cold and completely unreadable. "According to the mission file, we should find ourselves in the exact location we're in now, except years in the past."

"Same where, different when?" Yohji asked softly.

Aya's head turned slightly toward him and he nodded once, sharply.

"We're pretty far from the center of the city as it is out here," he stated, all business. Sometimes, when Aya spoke, he sounded more like he was giving a report than an opinion. Sometimes it was more like speaking to a machine than a man. "Unless they're only going back a few years, we should be dropped out in the middle of nowhere. This area wasn't developed until recently."

"I didn't bring a compass!" Omi gasped. "How will we know how to find the city?"

"Don't worry. I can find it."

Yohji peered quizzically at Ken. "You can?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yeah – it's south of here. I'll remember."

"How will you know which way is south?"

"I just…I just _will_, okay?"

"But how?"

Everyone was staring at Ken. For the athlete, the best way to get him to spill was always staring at him. Despite the fact he routinely played for a crowd, staring at him made him terribly uncomfortable.

And when he flushed pink to the tips of his ears, Yohji knew he had won.

"I…" Ken looked away, mumbling something.

"We can't hear you!" Yohji sing-songed. "Come on, Kenken, don't be so stingy!"

"I was a boy scout, okay?"

"Oh. Okay…"

"Don't laugh! It was a good experience, and…"

Laughter interrupted and kept him from continuing. Laughter, not from Yohji, or even from Omi. _Aya_ was laughing.

The redhead had to pull away from Yohji and retreat to a corner before he could even begin to compose himself. As is the case when one finds himself unexplainably amused by something small and silly, it was quite some time before he managed to gasp out, for the benefit of his astonished team:

"I pictured him in the uniform."

Yohji blinked, but it was _Omi_ who next began to giggle, setting Aya off all over again. Ken, resigned, cracked a small smile.

"I guess…maybe it is kind of funny…" he acknowledged.

"You in short shorts and a pretty sash?" Yohji asked. "That's not funny. It's fucking disgusting. Omi, Aya, you two should be _ashamed_!"

He barely managed to get through the sentence. The men of Weiss, thankful for the distraction from their worries, indulged in their humor, more than willing to be a little silly if it kept them from thinking about their mission.

Laughing felt good.

Almost as good as it felt to hear _Aya_ laugh.

The thought caused Yohji to look at his lover, and he actually found the small redhead's eyes on him, so bright, so lovely. It was such a rare expression for him that Yohji couldn't help but to feel stunned.

A high-pitched, screeching sound began to issue from the device in the center of the room, cutting off the laughter as if it had never existed. Aya's expression closed off again, locking him away from Yohji and whatever it was he had seen before.

The noise was annoying, verging on painful. Yohji looked to Omi and Ken, checking to see if they were all right, and then looked back to Aya. He blinked slowly as his vision began to lose its focus.

Aya moved out of his corner, and stumbled a step, momentarily unsteady. He closed his eyes, looking slightly ill, then began to come forward again. His hand, it seemed, reached for Yohji, but never made contact.

For one, terrifying moment, it seemed to pass _through_ him.

Then there was no room for worry, because there was no world anymore.

* * *

"Shit."

Crawford opened one eye, glancing at Schuldig. _Kontrolleur's_ scream – the sounds of the earth's entire population from all the years they were passing – was not helping his headache.

"_Kontrolleur_ tried to keep Abyssinian from coming along!" Schuldig hissed, gripping Carwford's arm as he glared at the machine.

"I told you to stay out of that thing's subconscious!"

Schuldig winched at his outcry, eyes darting across the room. _Kontrolleur_, Esset's _Kontrolleur_, the Original, had been made with as much love and care as a Grecian statue – and greatly resembled one in appearance, for all that it was made of metals and plastics, rather than marble. If Crawford hadn't known what it was, he doubted he would have assumed it had a functional purpose.

_Kontrolleur's_ originator was one mystery no one knew the answer to – it was something that had been lost when the machine's first and only use had caused a slight Shift in time. It was disturbingly beautiful, overwhelming in its androgyny, and Hollister had been completely obsessed with it ever since they had studied it in school.

The blonde man was currently sitting on what passed for the thing's lap, his head tilted back and his eyes closed as if in pure bliss. The agents he had chosen to take into his foray into the past were behind him. None seemed to have observed Crawford's outburst.

"Did Abyssinian manage to break through?" he asked coldly.

"Yes."

Crawford nodded, eyes scanning the rest of Schwarz. Nagi looked uncomfortable and miserable. Farfarello appeared to be trying to converse with the myriad of voices issuing from the machine.

"Then get the hell out of that thing's mind," he ordered.

Schuldig grinned brazenly, eyes drifting back to the contraption. "I've never met a non-living thing with a mind," he stated quietly. It was too risky, even for him, to try to speak telepathically while _Kontrolleur_ was active. "Can you really blame me if I feel a little…pulled?"

"It will enslave you!" he hissed. The screeching of the voices of time made it necessary for his mouth to nearly be touching Schuldig's ear in order for him to be heard. "I _will_ blame you for getting caught up in its thrall like Hollister."

Schuldig jerked away from him, shooting him a sullen, insulted look.

"I'm better than that!" he snapped.

"Schuldig, don't be childish!" he tried to grab him again, but the telepath pulled away violently.

"I don't like you when you think you're getting close to your plans, Brad," he stated lowly. "You should be warned – when you act like this, you aren't any different than the ones you hate."

Crawford could only stare at him, unused to the brash man stating _anything_ so clearly.

"You take a time-out and think about that," Schuldig advised. "I'm going to go see is Farfie can introduce me to any cool voices."

* * *

tbc

Next Chapter: I overthink way too many things. Yayness.

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - he can't get a break when I love to torture him. You know that. (grins)

Caitlebug - ahh! Huggles for you. I really appreciated hearing that. You made my day.


	12. Chapter 11: Melt

For questions about plotline, creative choices, or the dreaded crossover, it's probably wisest to leave a comment in my livejournal. (This doesn't mean you should slack up on reviews, mind you!) In any case, the link is in my profile, and I do accept comments from people who aren't logged in (meaning you don't need to actually have an account to leave a comment.) Email is always another option. Ya'll know I love to hear from you.

I just have a feeling there's gonna be a lot of questions soon, and review response has become (obviously) slowed and rushed.

This is where the crossover begins to come in, though it will be more obvious next chapter. It's a fairly well-known series, and I'm trying to keep it where even those unfamiliar with it will be able to keep up and enjoy, but if you find yousrself completely lost, please don't hesitate to write me and I'll do my best to help.

Chapter 11

Melt

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was the very disconcerting sensation that, under no power or decision of his own, he was moving. The second, much more disturbing fact he noticed was that he was being restrained.

Aya's eyes fought him as he slowly dragged them open, and he stared at the ground moving below him for several long moments before his mind helpfully informed him that he was upside-down. The uncomfortable feeling in the core of his body told him that he was being carried over someone's shoulder, and had been hanging limp for quite some time.

He closed his eyes again and fought every instinct in order to remain limp. He didn't know whether he was being held by friend or foe, and he didn't want to give away the fact that he was awake until he had some kind of plan – or could at least be sure of what condition his body was in.

He didn't remember getting injured, or even participating in a recent fight. This meant one of two things – either he'd taken a blow to the head, or had been put out of commission by the last thing he remembered – which seemed to be waiting with the rest of his team in an empty room.

So the chances of being in danger were slimmer than those of being with his team.

There were more people around than just whoever was carrying him, he realized after a few moments of thought and careful listening. If only one would speak, so he could know for sure.

The small assassin strained his ears for any sound, any clue to his situation.

And then the stabilizing hand resting against the back of his thighs slid upwards to grasp his rear.

There was no place for plans then, because Aya's response was immediate and instinctual. Aya began to struggle – to thrash and kick and scratch, and even attempt to bite – until, with an oath, his captor dropped him.

"_Fuck_, Aya!" Yohji cursed.

"Guess he's awake," Ken said dryly.

Omi gave Aya an apologetic look as he offered to help him up. "He's been grabbing you every couple of minutes – said it was how we would know when you had woken up."

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Yohji demanded sullenly. "Shit, Aya, I think I'm _bleeding_."

Aya ignored Omi's offer of help, rising of his own accord, glare and biting comment ready.

And then he stumbled, legs refusing to support his weight.

"It's okay – your body just needs a little time to adjust," Omi assured him, coming to his side. "Ours all did, too."

"How long were the rest of you out?" he asked.

Omi had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Well…" he said hesitantly, "You were kind of the only one to actually lose consciousness."

"Here, you can lean on me," Yohji said, offering his arm. Aya considered ignoring him, but the truth was that he was slightly more comfortable leaning on his lover than he was on Omi – a fact the blonde man had no doubt already guessed. He compromised by glaring as he accepted the offered help. "We've got some walking ahead of us," he told Aya with a wild grin. "Boy scout Kenken's gotten us lost."

"I found the road!" Ken protested.

"Accidentally," Yohji reminded him.

"And it doesn't help if you don't know which way we're going," Omi added. "If we're not careful, we could very easily end up going _away_ from the city."

"Sue me for forgetting which side of trees moss grows on!"

Aya let Yohji pull him to his side as he listened to his teammates bicker playfully. The fighting, he knew, was keeping them from thinking about being frightened, and he'd had to accept Yohji grabbing at him in front of the others ever since Ken and Omi had 'figured them out.'

"You were walking, though," Aya stated. "I felt myself moving. If you don't know which way to go, why would you start walking?"

"We weren't!" Omi objected.

"That would be just plain stupid," Ken agreed.

"Yotan was pacing."

"I - !" the lanky blonde opened his mouth to protest the accusation, then thought better of it when Aya gave him a sharp look. He shrugged, offering one of those helpless, innocent, I'm-harmless-I-swear grins that he was so very skilled at. "What can I say?" he asked lightly. "I was worried about you, schnookums."

He rammed his elbow deeply into the blonde's side and moved away. His limbs still felt a little unsteady, but he vowed that he would stand alone even if it killed him.

"What do you think we should do, Ayan?" Omi asked as Yohji once more began to curse in pain. "We can wait until the sun starts to go down and tell direction from that, but then we'll be walking in the dark and might lose the road." The tree coverage was too heavy for them to be able to tell the sun's position without a drastic change in lighting.

"Or," Ken suggested, his tone making it clear that they'd been having this argument for a while now. "We could mark the directions down, go to sleep, and wait for morning."

"And get attacked by bandits or…hell, I don't know…random samurai or something!" Omi shot.

Yohji laughed. "Attack of the Random Samurai. Sounds like a B-movie."

"Like you've managed to come up with anything better!" Ken snarled.

"I'm not the one who used to be a damned boy scout!"

"There hasn't been any traffic along this road?" Aya asked, his cold tone breaking into the brewing argument and stopping it in its tracks.

"Well…a little," Omi answered, "But we weren't sure which way the people were going. We've seen travelers going in both directions."

Aya closed his eyes and pressed his thumb into the pressure point between his eyes. He could feel a headache coming on. "And why," he asked, "Didn't anyone _ask_ any of the travelers whether they were going _into_ or _out of_ the city?"

Omi opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. He frowned thoughtfully.

"But isn't that a little weird?" the youngest Weiss asked at last. "I mean, if we're _on_ the road, then we should know which direction we came from. How would we explain why we don't?"

"Pretend to be drunk?" Yohji suggested.

They ignored him.

"Why should we care how it looks?" Aya asked. "Better to be weird than lost."

"What if the next person we meet walking down the road is an Esset agent?" Ken asked. "A question like that would give us away."

"Then we would fight." Had traveling through time addled their minds?

"It's so easy when he puts it that way, isn't it?" Yohji asked with a grin, attempting to sidle up to him and slide his arm around his shoulders.

"Either way, I guess we're going to have to wait a little, aren't we?" Omi asked with a frown as Aya silently shoved off his lover's arm and moved out of his reach.

"This isn't a vacation," the small redhead stated, cold and annoyed. It bothered him that they hadn't been better prepared almost as much as it bothered him that his body still wasn't wanting to fully cooperate.

"Grumpy!" Yohji laughed. "Sounds like you need a nice, long, massage. Happy ending included. Why don't we slip back into the woods and - ?"

"Touch me and lose a limb."

"That sounds…kinky."

Aya glared until Yohji's grin at last faltered. The blonde turned away.

"Unclench, will you?" the lanky blonde grumbled under his breath. "This mission isn't easy for _any_ of us – you don't have to make it worse."

"Then _stop_ acting like this is a game!" he hissed.

"I'm not." Yohji didn't glare often, but he wasn't half bad at it when he tried. "You can be a real selfish bastard sometimes, Aya, you know that?"

Ken gave an embarrassed cough as the lovers glowered at one another. Aya caught him send a questioning look to Omi, who only shrugged, eyes anxiously searching the road for travelers. Several moments of tense, angry silence passed before he spotted someone.

"Oh!" Omi's voice was both cheerful and relieved as he hurried to meet the elderly man dragging a cart. "Oh, sir? Please – may I ask you a question?"

The man's rheumy eyes regarded him suspiciously, then shifted past to view the rest of Weiss, squinting at them and curling his nose. "I don't have anything worth stealing!" he said at last, gruffly, and attempted to continue on his way.

"No, that's not…can you tell us, please, which direction the city is?"

The man stared at him as if he suspected him of being either crazy, or an evil spirit trying to play a prank on him.

"Are you going _toward_ the city, or away from it?" Omi pressed, as if that would clarify anything. "If you could just tell us _that_?"

"Where're you boys from?" the man asked, sounding suspicious and bewildered, both.

"Um…"

"The forest." Ken said.

The man paled, staring at him.

"What he means is…we live out far from the city on a small farm…but we needed to come in – for supplies!" Omi shot Ken an irritated look as Yohji mumbled something about 'shoulda' pretended to be drunk' and Aya rubbed his temples in irritation. It seemed to take quite some effort for the youngest Weiss to offer the man an innocent smile. "We managed to find the road, but we forgot which way we're supposed to go next."

"Sound like we're drunk anyway…" Yohji grumbled.

"You live in the forest?" the man asked suspiciously. "All of you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Together."

"Yes."

He motioned toward Yohji. "Even the foreigner?"

"Um…"

Yohji seamlessly shifted his sullenness into some of the 'patented Kudoh charm' that seemed to serve him so well.

"I'm their private tutor," he informed the man smoothly.

"What the hell would you possibly be able to teach anyone?" Ken hissed.

"Ask Aya," the blonde grinned.

"There's something wrong with you boys," the man accused with a frown, "But I've always made it a rule not to go messin' around with things I don't understand. I don't want any trouble."

"Please? We just need directions."

"I'm _leaving_ this place – for good! – so don't think you can come and find me later! I don't want to _know_ what kind of trouble you four are trying to get up to, but I want no part of it!"

"You're going _away_ from the city?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" the old man glared at them, repositioned his hands on the handles of his cart, and began to walk again, his stride full of determination.

The men of Weiss exchanged glances, then picked up the bags they had dropped at the side of the road. Aya, still feeling relatively unsteady, made the difficult decision to ignore it when Yohji grabbed his bags for him.

It turned out that they weren't actually very far from the city – which explained some of the man's odd looks, and increased Aya's feelings of irritation. They managed to make their way fairly quickly, and not even Yohji, whose height and light hair tended to stand out more than anything else, attracted much attention. There were actually a few people who didn't look like they were from Japan wandering the streets – much to Aya's private surprise. At the very least it gave them a better clue about the time period they'd been sent to.

"Tokyo's still crowded as hell!" Yohji laughed as they neared the bustling center.

They wandered the streets for about an hour before Ken finally gave voice to a problem Aya had been trying to ignore ever since reading the very thin mission file.

"Aya, do we know which of your ancestors Esset's going after?" he asked.

"No."

"Krittiker didn't have any information on it?"

"No." Esset's notes hadn't mentioned specific individuals, and even though they weren't any farther back than the late 1800's, there would have still been several branches of Aya's family tree alive at this time.

Aya wasn't sure where to even begin looking, or who would even be living in Tokyo at this time – he hadn't exactly ever had reason to memorize his family history. His parents hadn't been the kind to care. He had tried to research it before leaving, but with his family's documents all destroyed in the same night he had lost his loved ones, the task had been nearly impossible.

"Then…how do we know where we're going?"

The four stopped walking.

"I didn't even _think_ about that!" Omi flushed, clearly embarrassed. "Aya! Why didn't you have me look into it before we left? I was so concerned about using _Kontrolleur_ that I couldn't think of anything else and…what year are we in? Would your great-grandparents be alive, or are we even further back than that?"

"Some of that depends on how long some of them lived and at what ages they were when they had children," he stated, his annoyance at himself for not being able to find the answers making his voice much harsher than he'd intended. "My parents didn't place much emphasis on our ancestors. My father was more of the business-minded, practical type…" he offered the extra information as a kind of apology for his tone. Omi really didn't deserve to be snapped at. "We shouldn't worry about it – we should concentrate instead on finding Esset."

"I guess you're right," Omi sighed, relieved that all was not lost. "I was really looking forward to meeting your ancestors though."

"But can you imagine?" Ken asked. "What would our chances even _be_ of finding the one specific person Esset's targets have targeted all on our own?"

"Oh…" Yohji sighed, "I'd say the chances are pretty damn good." The blonde lifted his chin, motioning to something, and Aya followed his gaze, though at first he had no idea what the taller man was looking at.

Then the crowd parted, and he saw it.

It was a young child – two, maybe three years old. He seemed to have wandered away from his parents and was now sniffling quietly as he looked at the strangers around him through large, purple eyes.

"Call to him, Ayan," Omi's voice urged in a whisper, pushing the stunned man forward a step.

But it was Yohji who knelt down to be on eye level with the kid, who held out his arms and called to him gently, and the child, relived to find someone friendly, even if that someone was a stranger, laughed and ran to him, the sun shining off his bright, red hair.

* * *

"You may come in."

Even though he didn't open his eyes to see it, he could _feel_ the other man give a jerk of surprise.

"You aren't…ah…?"

"Close the door behind you," Crawford ordered – and winced when Schuldig did as told, sliding it closed noisily and without elegance.

"Nagi said you wanted to see me," the telepath mumbled. "I guess it's time to be punished?"

"You don't sound happy about that."

"Tch. I know when to be afraid. I'm not stupid."

"Hm…so, even a rat has instincts."

"I'm not a rat!"

Crawford opened his eyes slowly. Even the dim light in the room was too much for him, and he closed them again quickly.

"Is it bad this time?" Schuldig asked softly.

"The clear ones are always bad."

"Would…do you want me to help?"

He found himself smiling, and hoped the telepath interpreted it as a sign of forgiveness. "I do," he answered. "Open the link."

Schuldig did as ordered, clearly hoping to lessen his coming punishment through 'good deeds', and Crawford struck quickly.

Using a pre-existing psychic link to transfer one's pain to another had been a standard lesson when Crawford had still been in training, although the practice was frowned upon now. In fact, Crawford wouldn't have been surprised if even Schuldig was young enough to have never heard of the technique. Back in Crawford's school days, they had been encouraged to find a 'mark', pay a telepath to establish a secret connections, and push the pain of any and all injury onto that unfortunate mark.

The weaknesses in the practice, and the reasons it was only taught for a few years, were clear. Students started to target rivals, or, even worse, had the connection forged between lovers. The pain passed on was nearly three times as bad for the unfortunate mark, the result being that _Esset operatives_, rather than random civilians, became incapacitated.

An even worse effect was that the shock of the pain from a serious injury, when transferred, could kill a mark.

And the injured field operative, pushing his pain on a helpless rival, friend, or lover, would fight on with no indication as to how injured he was, often dying himself.

Crawford's graduating class had been cut nearly in half within three years of learning Transference.

The lesson was helpful now, though. A headache, however painful, would never be enough to kill a telepath who had spent so much of his life battling the pain brought on by the voices of the world.

"Son of a - !" the pained cry cut off abruptly into a stream of angry, violent-sounding German, and then became nothing but moans.

Mind finally clear of the pain, even refreshed, Crawford opened his eyes and rose, moving to observe Schuldig, now writhing in pain on the floor mats.

"What…the fucking _hell_…did you do to me?" the telepath panted.

"You offered to help," he smiled.

Punishing Schuldig had always been a difficult task. The man earned punishment often, but finding something effective was nearly impossible without killing, crippling, or otherwise incapacitating him. Depending on his mood, the vibrant, wild telepath could be both a sadist _and_ a masochist in turns, and punishment was never punishment if the bastard _enjoyed_ it. It didn't help that Esset had ordered Crawford on no uncertain terms _not_ to permanently mark him anywhere that couldn't be covered by normal clothing, or disfigure him in any way at all. His looks were part of his worth.

Crawford was quite pleased with the solution he had found this time.

Perhaps he wouldn't have acted so harshly had he not felt the importance of this mission weighing on him so heavily. Perhaps he could have found some amusement in the telepath's insubordination if they weren't _so-damned-close_ to freedom.

He felt no regret as he watched his lovely, wicked Second writhe in pain. The thought of what that headache would feel like intensified threefold – _that_ was what brought him amusement now.

"I'll give you an hour to get some control over yourself, Schuldig," he said, "And then I'm sending you and Nagi out to scope out the target's home."

The telepath whimpered, past the point of speech. Crawford stepped over him on his way out of the makeshift office he had 'acquired', his to-the-point, practical mind already at work. Now free from the pain his last vision had brought on, he could finally get to work.

Getting rid of that annoying headache _and_ finding a way to discipline the insubordinate Schuldig…

The efficiency of it all tasted like candy on his tongue, and he planned to meticulously and greedily made the most use of it he could before the sweetness faded away.

* * *

tbc

Putting myself in Aya's position, I realized that I had no idea where to even begin to look for my ancestors if I suddenly found myself in the past. (I warned you I overthink things…Of course, in my case, depending on the side of the family I was looking for, they'd probably be in Kentucky or Denmark. Cities? Who knows. I wouldn't even know what _names_ to ask for.) So if it seems more complicated than it should be, then blame the fact I can't let anything go.

Obviously, fashion is another issue of time travel, as well as language. Next chapter (I think) someone makes a comment about the boys' accents. Language (if it's a living language, and not a dead one) is continuously changing. Well, _accents_ also change.

Ignore my ranting. Hope to see you next time.

Next chapter: "I've never turned anyone into a chicken…thanks for the suggestion."

Response to unsigned reviews:

Clare – loves for you for enjoying the time machine. Thanks!

JB – It makes me so happy to know that you're reading! Thanks, as always, for the encouragement. Some weeks, I really need it!

Cat70 - nope; it seems to have eated it. (grins) I appreciate you taking the time to write up another. The time period is late 1800's, maybe early 1900's (I don't have my notes with me right now. Forgive my inexpertise) and so the majority of the Weiss boys are just wearing the "trypical" kind of traditional outfits you'd expect, with Yohji in western attire similar to what you'd see in, say, Gone with the Wind. It might not be completely on the mark, but I like the thought. Hope you continue to enjoy.

Geeze. I'm just waiting for some history buff to come and yell at me for not doing enough research...

Anyway, thanks everyone; hope to see you next time!


	13. Chapter 12: Darkness

For some reason, this is one of my favorite chapters. Look for long author's notes at the end of the chapter as I try to explain a few things.

Chapter 12

Darkness

* * *

He should have expected the man's directions to be every bit as complete as Crawford had seemed to believe they were when issuing his orders. Although his Sight could sometimes turn fuzzy, or even be made incorrect by some tiny, seemingly insignificant factor, Crawford was never foolish enough to leave out any detail he thought was important.

And if he said something was absolutely True, then it usually was.

Except when he was lying.

Nagi scowled and pushed away the traitorous thought. Schwarz and Bradley Crawford were due every last scrap of loyalty his small body could offer.

Nevertheless, when Crawford's plans began to go "right," when he got that haughty, satisfied, hungry look in his eye, Nagi had no illusions, despite his loyalty. If necessary, "father" Brad wouldn't blink at sacrificing every last member of his team. The man wanted _his own_ freedom, and if Nagi and the others were loyal and obedient, they could have their's, too – so long as they lives fit into his plans, that was.

_So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm_.

The words to the old poem echoed with startling clarity in his mind whenever he thought about his leader's behavior. At first, he had thought it had been a little "gift" left by Schuldig, but the telepath was never so subtle. No, it was Nagi's own mind reminding him to beware trusting too much.

Anyway, he doubted Crawford knew that Nagi was aware of just how flexible the worth of the members of Schwarz really was to their leader. He doubted Farfarello and Schuldig even had a clue.

The thought of his other teammates caused Nagi's eyes to seek out Schuldig. The telepath, a sour expression twisting his wide mouth, was leaning against the wall of the small dojo's outer gate, trying without much success to persuade his shaking hands to light a modern cigarette with a very modern lighter.

Esset, with the help of their Seers, had put a lot of effort into this mission, hoping to ensure that the operatives they sent would make as little impact on the past as possible – and that meant fitting in as much as possible. It brought Nagi endless amusement to find that the rebellious Schuldig had somehow managed to smuggle not only his precious cigs and lighter, but also his beloved sunglasses and scarves, into the past.

"What the hell are you smiling about, kid?" the fiery haired German demanded in a low, dangerous growl. They playful mood which had consumed him on their journey to the past – indeed, which _usually_ consumed him – was completely gone, and had been ever since he had left the room Crawford was now using as his office.

Though it was clear, and even understandable, that the telepath had both required and received disciplinary action for his recent behavior, Nagi had yet to figure out just what had been done to the older Talent. The man's mood had turned _foul_, but he wasn't limping, didn't seem to be bleeding, and didn't even look bruised.

"I don't think you're supposed to be wearing your sunglasses in public, Schuldig," he answered seriously, smoothing away the miniscule half-smile that had slipped past his defenses.

He made an irritated noise. "They were invented by now, weren't they?"

"I don't know," somehow, Nagi had never had reason to study the history of optical wear in school. "But I _do_ know they didn't have…what designer is that?"

"You don't care, so why ask?" he demanded.

Nagi looked away, shrugging. He would never admit it, but it stung to have the other man cross with him.

Schuldig looked funny to him in the long jacket, high collar, and vest that was typical of Western fashion at this time, with his sunglasses covering his eyes and his wild, vibrant hair spilling freely around his shoulders. According to his studies, this was a period of time where Western influence on Japan was high – there were more foreigners in the streets than ever before, and even Japanese fashion had taken on some Western elements. According to one schoolbook he had read, Emperor Meiji had actually been very fond of Western style clothing. It was the perfect time period, as far as for sending in a bunch of foreigners who didn't need to attract too much attention.

But Schuldig was too loud, too modern, too different. He didn't fit here, and _wouldn't_ fit, no matter how Esset tried.

It had been one of the Esset Seers, and not Crawford, who had directed them to the home of a government official notorious for having visiting foreigners stay in his house. The man, after a 'visit' with Schuldig, was now positive that not only had they been _invited_ to his home, but that their presence was an _honor_.

Not bad, considering that they hadn't even been in the past for an entire day yet.

"It's too damn _bright_ out here!" Schuldig groused at last.

Nagi looked up at the slightly-overcast sky, and decided not to say anything.

"Do you think we should go inside the grounds?" he asked instead. Nobody was supposed to be home right now, according to Crawford.

"But they will return by the time the sun begins to set," Crawford had informed them, tone sure. "Leave then, lest you encounter the Weiss."

"And if we do?" Schuldig had demanded sullenly.

"Encountering them here in the past is…not advisable – _especially_ for you, Schuldig," he'd answered icily. "Weiss is _not_ to know that Schwarz is here at all – leave them to Hollister's people."

The dojo Crawford had sent them to was well-maintained, but bore the look of a place that had once seen far more success. It looked slightly shabby, but well-loved.

"Disgustingly sentimental," Schuldig snarled, wincing as Nagi's thoughts accidentally intruded on his own. He realized that, for one of the few times in his life, the telepath was actually actively _working_ at shielding himself from the rest of the world.

Feeling chastised, Nagi followed the flame haired man into the yard, his eyes taking in the strips of land made slightly bare by habitual outdoor practice.

"Hey," Schuldig stopped, shoving his hands into his pockets as he surveyed the yard. "What do they teach here, anyway?"

"The sign on the gate said sword arts."

"Stupid," Schuldig snorted. "Why bother when there are guns around?"

"Or telepaths that can make you believe you're a chicken?" Nagi asked sullenly.

Schuldig looked at him for a long moment, eyes hidden by his dark lenses, and a ghost of his usual wickedness crossing his lips. "I've never turned anyone into a chicken," he stated at last. "Thanks for the suggestion."

"I wasn't - !"

"Brad's already a _dick_," the telepath mused, looking away. His grin widened. "I wonder if I could make him think he was a cock?"

"Schuldig…"

He shoved his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and smirked brazenly at Nagi. His eyes were wild and defiant and destructive.

"Let's get to work, shall we?" he suggested. "I find myself suddenly anxious to be getting 'home'."

Nagi had to abandon all need to argue with him, because the telepath was already striding through the yard toward the dojo, tossing the remains of his cigarette along the way. Nagi knew that if he didn't hurry to use his powers to open locked doors, Schuldig would find a much less subtle way of breaking in.

Even when they drew near and found no locks barring their way, Nagi felt certain that they were a hairsbreadth away from disaster id the telepath's more destructive tendencies managed to get out of hand.

And it was just Nagi and Schuldig, which meant that he was all on his own if the wicked German _did_ decide to get wild. Crawford was the only person who Nagi had ever seen frighten the telepath into anything like submission. Could Nagi use his powers to keep the man in line? Was he strong enough?

Or, without Crawford there to cow the man, would Schuldig simply brush aside his powers and lash out at him for even _attempting_…for even _thinking_ about…

Nagi's gaze shot nervously to Schuldig's back, but the flame haired man gave no indication that he had 'overheard' his younger teammate's thoughts.

And surely, Nagi reasoned, if he _had_, he would never give up on the opportunity to make him pay for it.

"Well, now," Schuldig said cheerfully, throwing open the doors, "Let's see what kind of trouble we can get ourselves into!"

He sauntered into the dojo as if it belonged to him, and Nagi had to fight the urge to repeatedly slam his head into a wall. The younger assassin followed behind sullenly, watching as Schuldig moved to the wall to read the plaques holding the names of the school's master, its acting instructor, and its students.

Nagi hoped greatly that the plaques would keep the man distracted for at least a little while. Going so quickly from a bad mood to a playful one usually meant that Schuldig was about to do something _stupid_.

After a few moments, it became clear that Schuldig had absolutely no intention of doing any of the work they had been sent to do. If the worst he was going to have to endure was taking on all the responsibilities solo, Nagi knew he would be getting off easy.

Trying to push away these thoughts, Nagi set to work. His first task, he supposed, was to get an approximate layout of the entire house, so that the operatives could work out where to place their men. He began to pace the room, counting off his steps in his head in order to get a kind of measurement.

"Hey, kid…" Schuldig's voice caused him to lose count. Sighing heavily, he shot the man an irritated look.

"Don't call me that."

"Come here a second."

"I'm working."

"Do I care? Just come here – tell me if I'm reading this wrong. The 'master' is a woman?"

Nagi sighed again, but knew that if he didn't do what Schuldig wanted, the telepath would simply keep pushing until he got his way.

"Master, Kamiya Kaoru," he read off dutifully. "Sure – it's probably a woman. So what?"

"That's awfully progressive, isn't it?"

"There _have_ been women who fight before modern times, Schuldig. Even further back than we are now. It really isn't a big deal."

"Really? I don't think I believe you."

"Schuldig, we really need to be working."

The telepath turned away from the plaques at last. "Stupid," he grumbled. "As if they weren't scary enough on their own – now they need swords?"

"I forgot you were afraid of women."

"I'm not 'afraid'!" he protested, tossing his head proudly.

"No?"

"No. They fucking _terrify_ me, and don't you forget it!" Schuldig gave a chuckle of wild amusement. He had once told Nagi that, while training under Esset, he had found himself under the 'tutelage' of many different people – and that, on average, the women had always been more creatively cruel.

"You have problems."

"I do? Thank you so very much, sweet Nagi; I had _no_ idea!" the telepath wandered over to a stack of wooden practice swords and picked one up, swinging it experimentally.

"You know," Nagi glared, "It _would_ be nice if we had _something_ to report back to Crawford with!"

"Then you should probably get back to work, shouldn't you?" Schuldig pointed the wooden sword at Nagi, squinting down the line of it as if sighting down the barrel of a gun.

"You _could_ help."

"Why bother?" Schuldig swung the sword again, like a baseball bat this time. "You really think that they _need_ any of this shit? I'm disappointed in you!"

"If they don't need it, then why would they send us?"

"My point!" he cheered. "Tch, Nagikins, _really_ – how long until you realize that Braddy-boy and I are at war?"

"At…" the boy blinked at him. That had been the _last_ thing he'd expected to hear. "War?"

"Of course! Grand, isn't it?"

"Schuldig…"

"Look," he began attempting to balance the wooden blade in the palm of his hand, and kept his eyes locked on it even as he spoke. "You remember how bad he got before he had to admit that we'd lost the opportunity to use that Taketori bastard to get our freedom? This is gonna be hella worse."

"Worse," he repeated, crossing his arms.

"You can't see it yet 'cause you're such a good boy. Me, though, well…I'm a pain in the ass."

"Yeah…"

Schuldig shot him a brief smile before turning his attention back to his balancing act. "And as resident pain in the ass, it's _my_ job to make sure that Brad has _someone_ to keep that massive ego of his in check," he continued, stating it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Farf's not gonna notice or care, and _you're_ not gonna say boo to him when it comes right down to it. _Somebody's_ gotta be responsible around here."

"You don't want to be responsible. You just want to be annoying."

"Same difference."

Nagi watched the flame haired man, but Schuldig gave no indication that he was anything but serious. For just a moment, the youngest Schwarz wondered if it was possible that anything other than boredom or selfishness motivated the man.

He dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came, getting back to work. When he finished with the dojo, he moved on to the main house and Schuldig, filled with wicked energy and apparently fully recovered from whatever punishment he'd taken earlier, followed.

Nagi tried to ignore him, but it was difficult. Schuldig, like a toddler in a shop of priceless antiques, seemed driven to get into _everything_.

"You can't light that!" he protested at last, as Schuldig fished out his cigarettes again. "They're going to smell it – they'll _know_ someone's been here!"

Schuldig rolled his eyes.

"Tch. I can't snoop around, I can't steal shit, I can't smoke – you're really no fun at all!"

* * *

tbc

Next time: the crossover hits full swing.

The poem Nagi was thinking about was Blake's "The Chimney Sweeper" - which is, according to some, basically a poem about how easy innocence is to exploit. Of course, everyone is welcome to their own interpretation, but it's always made me think of little Nagikins.

So, for anyone who hasn't caught on yet, the crossover of choice is Nobhiro Watsuki's beautiful _Rurouni Kenshin_. Anyone who's known me for a while should know that this is one of my favorite titles, that I think Watsuki is a genius, and that I personally believe it's _impossible_ for Kenshin _not_ to be related to Aya.

A few notes:

- I'm basing the set up off of volume 28 of the RuroKen manga, as well as the (lovely but stunningly-depressing) OAV, _Reflection_. Watsuki's epilogue is placed in the 15th year of Meiji (1882?). At this time period, for anyone who doesn't know, Kenshin and Kaoru have married and have a son, Sanosuke has gone off to live out his own life, and Yahiko has gained the reputation as one of the top swordsman in the country. (Sorry if I'm spoiling anyone – but all this is information you won't ever get if all you do is watch the anime, and actually has very little to do with the actual series.) Kenshin, while still practicing sword arts, can no longer use Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, or else his body will give out. I decided to place the Weiss boys just a year or two before the epilogue (but still after the whole Enishi mess)

The epilogue has Kaoru still using the family name of Kamiya, even though she's married. I understand that it's acceptable, and quite frequent in the fanon, for Kenshin to have actually taken _her_ family name, but I chose not to do this (so he will introduce himself as Himura.)

I'm choosing to focus more on the very happy manga ending than the extremely sad OAV ending (if you haven't seen it – it's not for the faint of heart.) For anyone who read my old _Eternal One_ fic (don't look for it. I've taken it down.) this is a very different Kenshin than you've seen from me. He's content with his life and has done a lot of healing at this point.

Watsuki's description of Kenji, Kenshin's son, is intriguing. In his notes, he states that as a child, Kenji is a little "stupid" and slow, but later on will master his father's swords style "just from hearing about it" and he "becomes a bit twisted, as is common with geniuses." This isn't important for the fic; I just think it's neat.

So anyway, please direct any and all questions my way – remembering that it may take me a while to reply to reviews – and if you're unfamiliar with the RuroKen world, or maybe just need a brush-up, let me know and I'll do my best to help.

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - You make me happy (grins)

glinwulf - Hm. For the time being, there are no plans to see anyone else's ancestors - but the fun thing with a set up like Kontrolleur is that I can always go back for sidestories later.


	14. Chapter 13: The City

Chapter Thirteen:

The City

* * *

The child couldn't have been much older than two or three years. He had ran to the group when Yohji had called to him with all the carefree trust of a child who had never known anything but safety and love and affection.

It made something inside of Omi _ache_.

The youngest member of Weiss didn't like children. Hadn't, even when he had been one. He could be nice to a child, even look after one if necessary, but he didn't like them. Even infants…when he saw that innocence and that brightness, that naïve self-assurance that life was gentle and kind and loving…he felt jealous.

Jealousy over little kids, who had no control over their own lives, much less _his_…it was disgusting and wrong.

So Omi didn't like children, because he only felt that way when he saw one.

Yohji, Aya, and Ken had all knelt right where they were in the street when the child had come so eagerly to them. Aya was only staring at the young boy, his expression as cold and unreadable as usual, but the other two were shamelessly making a fuss over the tot – silly faces, stupid voices – and causing him to howl with laughter.

Assassins playing at being clowns.

Omi shook his head in reluctant amusement.

"Kenji!"

The frightened, desperate cry cut through Omi's heart like a knife. He lifted his head and knew that the woman, who had not yet seen Weiss as she searched desperately through the crowd, was the boy's mother. He began to raise his hand, prepared to call to her, when she finally spotted them.

Her hand flew to her chest and her mouth moved in some expression of relief.

"He's over here!" she called to someone, and began to run toward them. "Kenji! Kenji, darling…!"

The child, crowing with laughter, ran to meet her, and she swung him up into her arms, planting relieved kisses all over his face as a man broke free from the crowd to come and join her.

"What has momma told you about running off?" she demanded, eyes only for the child in her arms, voice tight with unexpressed emotion.

The man who had come forward flashed a bright smile at Weiss. His large, violet eyes were filled with a gentle warmth.

"We are so very appreciative to you for finding our son," he said, clearly relieved himself. "He seems to have decided to be an escape artist this month, and not even this one has been able to…" he trailed off, eyes growing huge in his pretty face as Aya, also staring, slowly stood.

The resemblance was unreal. The man was smaller, frailer, and more feminine-looking than Aya. His hair color was a slightly lighter shade of red, and his pansy-colored eyes came nowhere near possessing the brooding darkness of Aya's, but…

For the first several, shocking seconds, though, those things were impossible to notice.

"Ah…" the man dropped his eyes and shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Again, thank you," he smiled, and for the first time Omi noticed the thin, faded scar on his cheek and the sword at his waist.

"He sounds like a handful!" Yohji's laugh sounded forced and loud, but it broke the awkward moment successfully. "Cute little guy, though. How old is he?"

"Two," the mother answered. Her son on her hip, she moved closer to the group to get out of the way of the crowds. She was very young, Omi thought, and pretty in a classic kind of way, with dark hair and blue eyes. "Are you new to the city?" she asked.

Ken jerked. "Wh..uh..why? Why would you ask that?" he demanded nervously.

"Your luggage," she smiled, pointing to the bags.

"Oh…right."

"We got business," Yohji explained smoothly, laying on the infamous Kudoh charm. "Only, it kinda' fell through. We were barely here an hour before finding out – real disappointing, you know?"

"What a shame!"

Omi breathed a sigh of relief, thankful, for once, that the blonde man had years of experience lying to women. Stupid as he acted sometimes, Yohji Kudoh could be a true chameleon when he wanted to.

The man didn't seem as willing to believe their story, but his smile didn't waver.

"Again," he said, "Our gratitude for finding our son."

"Let us buy you lunch!" the woman suggested.

"Er…Kaoru…"

"As a token of our appreciation," she said, shooting her husband a warning look. "And a 'welcome to the city' gesture."

Aya opened his mouth, his 'no' already plain on his face, and Omi spoke quickly.

"Why, thank you!" he gushed. "How very generous!"

"They got restaurants way back in - ?" Yohji's question cut off with a grunt as Omi kicked him. "Damn it, chibi!"

"_Language_, Yotan!" Omi turned his smile quickly back to Aya's relatives – for surely they couldn't be anything else. "Unfortunately, we aren't familiar with the area yet, of course, so…"

"Yes, of course! There's a place just around the corner…"

* * *

"He has Aya's smile."

Yohji glanced down at Aya, walking by his side as they followed the small family through the busy Tokyo streets. Until now, the man had been completely silent.

"What's that, sweetheart?" he asked, taking his cue from his lover and keeping his voice low.

"The kid…he has my sister's smile."

"Yeah? He looked more like _you_ to me."

"You've never seen her smile."

Yohji didn't know how to respond to that. He'd gotten better at reading Aya, but sometimes, like now, the man was a mystery.

At the moment, Yohji really wasn't feeling like playing audience to one of Aya's emotional crises. Traveling back in time was enough stress for one day, thank you very much. It was all well and good when the man wanted a cuddle…even better when he wanted a fuck…but Yohji was beginning to feel increasingly obligated to try to help him talk it out and _that_ was truly a pain in the ass. Yohji just didn't have the patience _or_ the energy to navigate the traps lurking behind every conversation with Aya. Not today.

He let his gaze drift to where Omi and the young mother, at the head of their party, were chatting as happily as if they'd known each other for years. He was grateful that the teen was such an easy-to-trust, friendly person. Yohji probably would have accidentally flirted or something equally disastrous if he'd been left in charge – and neither Ken nor Aya would have fared much better.

As for Aya's ancestors, now _that_ was something interesting. Aya hadn't said anything about the young mother, but in Yohji's opinion, the girl looked an awful lot like the pictures he'd seen of his lover's sister.

And the man…

He clearly sensed that there was something off about their group, but he seemed to be a genuinely gentle person, judging by the way he let his wife bully him and simply laughed off any sign of conflict. There wasn't a single sign of hostility to him, despite his reservations – which, Yohji was sure, he was only noticing because he'd trained himself to look for signs like that in people.

When they reached the restaurant – and Yohji still felt completely justified in his surprise that they _had_ restaurants, even if the timing of his question had been bad – their hosts were greeted with warmth and enthusiasm and showed a table promptly.

"How cute," Yohji mumbled, finding that they were going to have to sit at one of those tradional-style, low-table, no-chair dealies. "My knees are gonna _ache_…"

"Shut _up_, Yotan," Omi said with a wide smile for their guests. "You'll have to excuse him."

"Not at all," the man said, returning the smile. "Your Japanese is very good," he told Yohji. "This one cannot even place your accent."

"Gee. Thanks."

Aya's hand moved discreetly as he pinched his leg in warning.

"May this one ask where you are from?"

"Um…" Yohji hadn't thought about how to answer that kind of question. He definitely had ancestors from Western countries, but both of his parents had been born and raised in Japan, as far as he knew. "Sweden."

"Sweden?"

Omi squeaked, fighting not to laugh. Waving away concerned glances, he hid his face in his sleeve.

"Yup. Sweden," he said flatly. "Just think of me as a pretty milk maid!"

"You'll have to excuse him!" Omi eeped out again.

"He suffered from brain damage on the trip," Aya stated, glaring at Yohji.

Omi squeaked again.

"Not to be rude, but if I'm gonna be putting up with you asses any longer, daddy's gonna need his cigs," he decided, rising and ignoring the disapproving glances of his teammates. If there was going to be one of those days when _nothing_ he did pleased _anyone_, then he wasn't going to waste the energy even _trying_. "Give me a call when the grub arrives."

"You'll have to excuse him," he heard Omi say for a third time as he re-traced his way back out of the restaurant.

Krittiker had supplied him with time-period-accurate cigarettes and matches, realizing, perhaps, that keeping him happy was the best way to keep him working, but Yohji wasn't quite brave enough to give them a try. Maybe when the supplies he had managed to smuggle into the past ran out, he would give it a try, but until then, he wasn't going to risk it.

Yohji leaned against a wall as he lit up and watched the passing foot traffic with interest. He felt like there should be movie cameras hidden somewhere. It was unreal to him that the 'costumes' everyone was wearing were their regular, everyday clothing.

His gratitude over being given Western clothing was fading, too. Sure, it meant real pants, but it was still stuffy and uncomfortable, and he felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. There were more than a few people on the street wearing some combination of clothes like his, and even a few women in full, cumbersome-looking dresses, but…

Exhaling, he reached up to loosen his collar.

"Kudoh."

He jumped, guiltily dropping his hand. "I wasn't…" he began to protest.

Sighing in irritation, Aya reached out and loosened it for him, his movements so quick and annoyed that he almost tore the cloth.

"Don't lecture me," Yohji said, looking away. He took a long drag of his cigarette, but it was hard to relax under Aya's glare. "I'm _trying_ to behave, damn it."

"Omi's been too influenced by the media and pop culture," Aya stated dismissively. "He's expecting everyone to be a lot more conservative than they probably really are. As long as you don't do something stupid to jeopardize the mission, I don't care _how_ you act."

"Aw. Thanks, darling."

"You still have no idea what time period we're in, don't you?" he sighed.

"That obvious, huh?"

"It was in the file, Kudoh."

"You know I don't read those things."

"Thirteenth year of Meiji," he sighed.

"Really? Cool."

Aya gave a quiet, reluctant laugh.

"Thirteen, though," Yohji mused, "I don't know if I like that."

"Are you superstitious, Yohji?"

"Sometimes."

"Hn."

Yohji took another drag of his cigarette, and the two of them enjoyed a small stretch of silence.

"I doubt you came out here to enjoy a smoke with me," Yohji said at last. "And I doubt you're about to ask me to jump you right out here in the street – so what do you want if you're not here to scold me?"

"I had to get away from them." Aya hesitated, and when he spoke again, some of the habitual steel left his voice. "I didn't want to have to _meet_ them. I didn't even want to see them if I could help it. What does that…" his voice dropped even further. "What does that mean?"

"I ain't your therapist, baby," Yohji flicked his cigarette away and began to head back inside.

Aya caught his arm.

"Omi's been hinting around," he said urgently. "He's trying to get them to offer us a place to stay."

And when Omi wanted something, he usually found a way to get it.

"Sounds like it'll give us a better window for protecting them from Esset," he answered with a careless shrug. "Since we don't know who they want, it sounds like the best option, doesn't it?"

His grip tightened.

"Yohji!"

"Look - !" Yohji moved into Aya – not touching, but dangerously close to it. "I know I agreed to be your whore, but I've been catching shit from all three of you all day, so forgive me if I'm not exactly in a good mood."

* * *

"I hope Ayan and Yotan are all right…" Omi frowned, eyes on the path his two teammates had taken on their way out. Aya hadn't even given an excuse before getting up to follow Yohji.

"We should place bets on whether or not one of them comes back bloody," Ken mumbled. Then, remembering that they weren't alone, he blushed. "Um…I mean…"

"Do they fight often?" the red haired man asked with a warm smile.

Omi and Ken exchanged glances.

"They used to," Ken muttered at last.

A young woman came to take their orders, and chatted cheerfully with their hosts until they decided to go ahead and order without the others. When she at last left, their hostess was frowning.

"I just realized that we're about to share a meal and we don't even know your names!"

"Oh!" Omi felt his face inflame. Everyone had been getting along so well that it had felt like they'd met before – he hadn't even _thought_ about introductions. "Oh, how embarrassing! I'm so sorry! Um…Tsukiyono. Tsukiyono Omi is my name, and he's Hidaka Ken…"

"And the two idiots outside are Kudoh Yohji and Fujimiya Aya, in that order," Ken said. Omi flinched, fearing some kind of response to Aya's name, but apparently "Fujimiya" didn't mean anything to them.

"Kamiya Kaoru," the woman answered with an embarrassed smile, "And my son, Kenji, and my husband…"

"Himura Kenshin," the man said with another of those warm smiles.

* * *

Aya had closed his eyes. Generally, during an argument, that was a sign that he was fighting to control his temper, to hide his glare.

But it hadn't been anger which had flashed through his eyes in the brief moment that passed before he closed them.

Yohji stubbornly ignored the urge to apologize. Aya wasn't his boyfriend – technically, they could _hate_ each other and it wouldn't affect their arrangement. Judging by how often Aya got rough in bed, or encouraged Yohji to, hatred would probably only _help_ the sex.

But _hurt_ in the eyes of Aya Fujimiya…he wasn't sure he'd _ever_ seen that before.

And Aya had enough things in his life that hurt him, Yohji's unhelpful mind reminded him, without his chosen ally turning against him without warning.

"Everything's not always about you," he said quietly, acidly, shoving the sick feelings of guilt aside. "I know you're fucking miserable, Aya, and honestly, I've been more than willing to help you out so far…but we don't live in some little world where you're the only one who feels anything."

He wanted to yell, but his voice came out gentle. He wanted to tell Aya to go fuck himself, but he found himself reaching for him, caressing his cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"I'm sorry."

Those words, coming from Aya's mouth, shook him to the core.

"What?"

Aya didn't answer, didn't repeat himself, and Yohji knew he _wouldn't_. He opened his eyes without looking at him, released his hold on his arm, and walked away.

* * *

tbc

Next time: "Do you think the _real_ devil would be able to keep me in line?"

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - I don't see how anyone _couldn't_ see the resemblance. Ah well. Hm...no Kenshin in their little love nest; with this set up, it would be too ah...family oriented. Although it is a pretty picture to think about...


	15. Chapter 14: Fire

For anyone unfamiliar with the RuroKen series, please see the notes at the end of the chapter.

This is a Schwarz-centric chapter. The intent was to show more of their dynamic, each individual's roles within the team, and, most importantly, Schuldig's importance within their ranks. It was supposed to set up a few things that are going to happen later in the fic. Looking back now, I'm afraid the events of this chapter just seem like random drama. Forgive my weakness.

Chapter Fourteen

Fire

* * *

"So, then – everything is taken care of?"

Without having to turn to see it, he could _feel_ it when Schuldig scowled at his back, and he laughed.

"There wasn't much to do," the German man answered sourly. "It's not like they have a security system to get past, or even any dogs. It's going to be pathetically easy to get what we came for."

Something in his voice stripped away Crawford's feelings of amusement. Though no Vision accompanied the feeling, he was suddenly certain that 'easy' was far from what they should expect.

"Any word from Weiss?" the telepath asked, and now _he_ sounded amused.

Crawford quickly slammed all of his shields back into place. He had been in such a good mood – so pleased with how well everything was falling into place – and he'd wanted Schuldig to feel it. He did _not_ want the man to gain insight into any other thoughts.

"No," he answered coldly.

The original Visions had shown him Weiss tracking them down within three days of their arrival in the past. It was still early to pin those Visions as failed – had had only been a few hours, after all, but…

"Think they made it?"

"Of course they made it."

"Hmm…" Schuldig's voice grew closer, and then he was standing beside him, looking out the open window. The German leaned his hands on the sill and closed his eyes as a soft breeze lifted his hair. "What if they didn't?" he asked, voice a soft taunt. "What if they've died? Or what if they're here, but don't find us? How will the poor little kitties get home?"

"Weiss _must_ be there for the ceremony."

"Then I guess you should be more careful with our toys, hmm? Really, having _me_ ensure they came on this little vacation with us was quite risky, don't you think? Just because you don't like to dirty your _own_ hands…"

"If I need to spill Esset blood for this, then perhaps I should begin with yours."

Schuldig laughed, delighted, and raised his wicked eyes to meet Crawford's glare.

"I declared war on you today," he stated, his tone like that of a lover. He stood, arms twining around Crawford's neck, body pushing itself against that of his leader's. "You won't find _that_ in Nagi's report, I bet, but it's still true."

"Decorum, Schuldig. Step away, or…"

"Threats," he tsked. "Do you know how much they bore me? Punishment is boring, too, because – eventually – it has to end."

Crawford fought the urge to move, knowing it wouldn't help. Schuldig would follow, and follow, and follow, until he cornered him.

"Step away," he said again, "Or you die."

Schuldig laughed softly, and his dark lashes momentarily kissed his cheeks as he lowered his eyes in a mockery of modesty.

"Do you think the _real_ devil would be able to keep me in line?" he asked. "Or is he more like you?"

"And what's 'like me'?"

"Weak," Schuldig whispered, eyes on his lips. "Your hopes make you weak. _I_ make you weak."

"I've never touched you."

"No," he agreed, "You haven't. But you dream of it. You want to break me, don't you? You want to master me, as even Esset's greatest have failed to do. You don't understand why you all fail."

If he didn't move soon, he would get to him. In order to strengthen the power of his Visions, Crawford had long ago chosen to deny his body of any action which could potentially steal energy from his powers. It grew easier with each passing year.

But Schuldig's body was against him in a long, clean, hard line, and he knew, instinctively, what that body would look like, feel like, taste like.

And he, for just a moment, wanted to take it, use it, _own_ it. Mocking, rebellious Schuldig a slave to his every whim, bent under the strength of his will. He wanted the telepath helpless, begging, chained.

"Why do we fail?" he asked as those taunting eyes once more lifted to fix on his own.

Schuldig laughed, the sound a distant echo of the growl of a hunting cat.

"You fail," he answered softly, "Because you think I _can_ break."

His hands came up, one grasping the telepath's arm hard enough to bruise, the other going into that thick, wild mane of flame colored hair.

"_Anyone_ can break, Schuldig," he whispered back savagely.

"_You_ can break. Nagi could break. Farf is broken. But I, dear _Vater, _I... _bend_."

His lips brushed Crawford's – a brief, harsh, stolen kiss, and then he broke his hold and, laughing, danced away.

"The kiss of death!" he announced, maddeningly mocking. "We're at war now, Brad – for realsies. An' I'm gonna' make you fucking _miserable_."

* * *

That _look_ on Crawford's face!

Schuldig nearly laughed every time he thought about it. Bradley Crawford caught unaware, eyes full of fire and a tent in his slacks! Mr. I-want-to-control-everything himself reduced to the same level as any other man.

Schuldig _did_ laugh – a short, violent sound – and leaned his head back against the pillar supporting him.

Damn whatever consequences came along – it had been _worth it_, damn it, and would continue to be worth it until the day he died. Which, knowing Brad, probably wasn't that far away anymore. It didn't matter though. To take that bastard down a peg…ah, now, that was worth _any_ price.

Schuldig was _not_ a child to be punished. He was not a horse to be broken, or a savage to be tamed, or a subject to be monitored.

And if Crawford tried that fucking headache-thing, it wouldn't be violence and nightmares and teasing which he would use to voice his displeasure. No, no more of that, for clearly _subtlety _wasn't working.

If Crawford tried something like that again, Schuldig would _annihilate_ him.

The thought caused his lips to curve into a smile around the cigarette they clutched. He didn't know yet just _what_, exactly, he would do…

Just that it would be…unpleasant.

Schuldig _wanted_ to be as loyal to Crawford as Nagi was, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He had known the man longer – and for all the terrible experiences that tainted Nagi's mind and past, the boy _still_ maintained some little scrap of idealistic naïveté that Schuldig, as far as he knew, had never possessed to _begin_ with. Crawford was _not_ going to make everything better. He wasn't going to 'fix' them, heal their scars, satisfy their anger. He wasn't going to free them from Esset – just chain them to a new master. Him.

Schuldig had liked Crawford, before the man had begun to get so caught up in his own ego. He looked at Schuldig as nothing more than a weapon, true, but not a beast of burden. He didn't see him as a brainless beauty to be used however he pleased, but as a dangerous animal to be used as _permitted_. Schuldig would have given Crawford anything he wanted, so thankful had he been to be taken from the path Esset had placed him on – so grateful to find a man who did not look at him and see a toy.

Gratitude only went so far, he'd found. Crawford didn't see a toy – but he _did_ see a child, and some days, that was worse.

Schuldig's open rebellion had been building for a long time. Tormenting Crawford because he'd annoyed him was one thing, but _this_…

It was dangerous – which was one reason Schuldig had wanted to avoid it if he could have. Esset could kill him if they found out. Crawford could, too. Telepaths, _especially_ one as powerful as Schuldig, were rare and expensive – but rebellion was Not to be tolerated.

Schuldig exhaled slowly, deep in thought as he stared at the stars dotting the night sky.

Crawford wasn't going to get it, he realized with irritation. He wouldn't execute Schuldig for insubordination, but he wouldn't change his treatment of him, either. Crawford wanted to control _everything_ – Schuldig included.

He was going to punish him again.

Schuldig sighed and flicked his cigarette away. He couldn't enjoy _anything_ with this bitter disappointment filling him. As he went back inside, Nagi refused to meet his eyes. The boy didn't know what had happened, but he wasn't happy. He would never approve of Schuldig's behavior, whatever the telepath's reasons.

"I guess we're all going to be missing our television programs while we're here," Schuldig drawled, ignoring his younger teammate's displeasure as he took a seat. "Farfie, why don't you be a pal and act something out for us, hmm? Keep us entertained?"

The man only laughed. He'd managed to find a safety pin, and was preoccupied threading it under the skin on the back of his hand.

"You don't need to be entertained all the time," Nagi stated darkly. "A few hours of quiet isn't going to kill you."

"Ah, but it might kill someone _else_."

Schuldig cringed at the all-too-familiar voice that answered Nagi, and he sent his best, most irritating smirk to the door through which Hollister was walking.

The blonde man returned the expression with a smile of his own – calm, confident, and just a little frightening.

"That's still the way you operate, isn't it, Schuldig?"

"Would you care for a personal demonstration, Arrow?"

He laughed, unruffled. Hollister had never been frightened of Schuldig for even the smallest fraction of a moment, and they both knew it. No matter what power he gained, or how many lives he took, Schuldig would never be anything more than a whore to the man who had helped 'train' him.

One day, he would pay for that.

Schuldig flashed his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Come to lick Brad's ass again?" he demanded. "Will you help him remove his head from it first, or is that all part of the fun?"

"That's enough, Schuldig."

"No, he's quite all right, Bradley."

The dark haired man observed them both for a moment before giving a brisk nod and going back into his 'office.' Hollister began to follow, stopping only when he was directly in front of Schuldig. He reached out to him, and Schuldig wrenched back before that hand could touch his face.

The man laughed, retracted his hand, and continued on his way to Crawford's office.

"_Arsch_," Schuldig hissed under his breath.

"You…shouldn't let him get to you."

"Oh? Thank you, Nagi! Such _wisdom_ from such _experience_!"

"I just think that if you could try to ignore him…"

He laughed, and knew it sounded nasty, and knew he was taking his anger out on the kid, and knew the boy didn't deserve it, and knew he didn't fucking care. Nagi fell silent in the face of his mockery, his expression dark and angry and perhaps a little hurt. An answering laugh from across the room drew both of their attention.

Schuldig didn't know _where_ Farfarello had smuggled in the box of safety pins, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. The man had pushed up his sleeves and begun threading the pins up and around his arms like glittering, silver bracelets.

"Wisdom from experience," he said, and laughed even harder. Red blood was beginning to trickle down his arms. He had begun his decorations in meticulously neat rings, but the further up he had traveled, the more…enthusiastic he had grown. The skin of his upper arms looked like it had been chewed by a dog.

"_Scheisse,"_ Schuldig muttered, rising slowly. The movement brought that intense, golden-eyed gaze snapping to him – quick and sharp like a falcon sighting its prey. "Nagi, when I move, I want you to – not until I move, damn it!"

"Schuldig…"

"I want you to get his medication from the supplies. The strong stuff – not that weak-assed, give him the happies for a few hours shit. I want elephant tranqs, or you're gonna' be mopping sticky little bits of me off the ceiling for months."

"Schu…"

"I don't care if you run or if you use your powers, but you gotta go fast – understand? You can't hold him without hurting yourself, so I gotta…look, once I move, I got maybe…I don't know…thirty seconds to five minutes. Depending on my luck."

"You want _me_ to inject him?"

All the time he'd been with Schwarz, and the kid had never seen the Irishman this bad. Schuldig hadn't let him. He'd felt it appropriate to see to it that Nagi was properly cautious and respectful, even afraid, but he'd taken care to keep him far away from one of Farf's 'bad' days.

And by the glint in those yellow eyes, the alert cock to that head, and the fact he'd let his attention get diverted from the blood _already_ present, Schuldig would guess that _this_ was not going to be one of those times he thought of as 'bad.'

This was going to be one of those 'fucking-shit-duck-and-find-a-place-to-hide' times.

"I can't touch his mind right now. With him this far gone, it would just pull me under. We don't need _two_ of him. Hell, I'm not sure we need _one_."

"Schu…" Nagi's voice was frightened – something Schuldig had never heard from him before.

"Work fast like a good little boy and everything will be fine." Sort of. "Now. Go!" and before the words were out of his mouth, he'd launched himself at the madman.

Schuldig had to slam his shields shut hard and prepare himself for a quick, messy disconnect from the rest of Schwarz. If Farfarello's mind lashed into his own, he would have to cut himself off from Crawford and Nagi or risk pulling _them_ all down as well.

Farfarello's body hit his with all the force of a small bulldozer, and it didn't matter that the man was unarmed because he was plenty deadly _without_ his beloved knives.

The human body had marvelous capabilities in times of crisis. A grandmother who lifted a car off a grandson, a soldier who fulfilled his mission despite excruciating pain from fatal injuries – these well-known 'freak' stories were the motivation behind Esset's use of berserkers like Farf. While they weren't Talents in the same sense as a telepath or a precog or any of the other psychics Esset collected, they were still different from the rest of humanity and, thus, useful. Someone as mad as Farfarello simply didn't have that little mental voice of caution – _don't do this, you'll hurt yourself – _and so there was nothing they couldn't be persuaded to do. And nothing they weren't capable of.

With the swing of one arm, Farfarello send Schuldig flying back, into – and through – a wall and into the garden. Schuldig managed to twist his body to avoid a large rock, but the landing still _hurt_.

He picked himself up slowly – there was no time to check for injuries. If he stayed still, or failed to be 'entertaining', Farfarello would turn his attention on Nagi.

Farf had picked up a splintered shaft of wood and stood in the hole in the wall Schuldig's body had made hefting it experimentally like a club. Wherever Schuldig moved, the madman's eyes followed, intense and gleaming.

"Schuldig, run!"

Farfarello stumbled forward a step as Nagi launched himself onto his back, stabbing him in the neck with a syringe.

The madman flung the boy off with a motion no more strenuous than a good stretch.

"Hey!" Schuldig gave a loud whistle, trying to get the Irishman's attention to return to him. "Come play!" he called, and laughed. Some destructive, angry part of his soul had always reveled in the danger and violence and pain Farfarello could offer. Schuldig's mind was locked up too tightly for him to be influenced by leaks from his teammate's psyche – and the knowledge that his recklessness was all _him_ scared him just enough to keep him in prepective. "Here Farfie, Farfie. That's a good boy!"

Farfarello barreled into him and Schuldig grabbed on – a hand in his hair, a hand in his shirt - and tried to control the fall as he rolled back to hit the ground once more, legs already moving to get a purchase on the other man's body, using his momentum to send him flying past him, over him, into the gate.

By the time Schuldig gained his feet again, Farfarello had already gathered himself and, like a feral dog, was charging at him for a third time. When Schuldig fell, his head grazed a rock he had been attempting to avoid.

Farf's eyes followed the action, and fixed on the rock. He smiled.

One large hand closed over Schuldig's face. The other fisted in his hair.

Blindly, Schuldig searched for the syringe. Farfarello was pulling him up – he was going to dash his head into that rock, and wouldn't stop until he saw brains.

His hand at last found the syringe that had been left sticking out of the madman's neck when Nagi had gone flying, but even as he pushed the medication into his veins, he knew it was too late to stop him.

The first time his head struck, he saw stars.

The second blow never came. A hand fisted in Farfarello's hair, Nagi managed to wrench back his head and plunge another dose of the tranquilizers into him. Feebly, the golden eyed man's hands continued to grasp at Schulig's throat, and then his eyelids began to droop, and he was out.

"Okay," Schuldig breathed, his voice a mere rasp. He felt slightly dizzy, and hoped that it was a good thing, and not a bad. At least he was feeling _anything_, right? "That…could have gone better."

Nagi released their teammate as if afraid his madness would spread, and the man slumped forward bonelessly into Schuldig.

"Are you okay?" the youngest Schwarz asked.

"Peachy," Schuldig muttered. "Do me a favor, will you, kid? Go get Brad." How the hell had the bastard not heard the commotion in the first place?

"Okay!"

As he hurried away, Schuldig began to carefully try to sit up, holding Farfarello to him. The man would be out for several hours, judging from the amount they'd pumped into him.

A dull headache was beginning, but there was still enough adrenaline in his system to keep him functioning. When he _really_ began to feel it, he was going to _hurt_.

"Caught me with my pants down, didn't ya?" he asked with a vague half-laugh, stroking his fingers absently through the Irishman's soft hair. The only reason Crawford had ever succeeded in getting their Esset masters to approve his taking Schuldig into his team as an active agent had been the need for a telepath to keep his shiny new Berserker under control.

Schuldig had been Farfarello's caretaker for years – and his healthy fear of the man barely compared with his affection. He could never decide if he considered the man a friend, brother, or pet, but he was fond of him. Even when the bastard snapped and tried to kill him.

"Next time," he muttered, "Be a pal and do a better job of slaughtering me, okay? No one appreciates half-assed work."

His eyelids felt heavy. Sleep was bad when combined with head wounds, wasn't it?

He laughed giddily, leaning to brush a brotherly kiss against the madman's forehead.

"Hey," he said, voice beginning to slur, "Maybe you didn't disappoint me, after all."

Another laugh, and he rested his head atop his teammate's and closed his eyes.

* * *

tbc

**Kenshin Notes:**

Rurouni Kenshin, by the talented Nobuhiro Watsuki, is available both in anime and in manga form, whatever your preference. This little summery is a combo of both. Please excuse any misspellings as I'm typing this up from memory. RuroKen is set ten years after Japan's Meji revolution. At the beginning of the series, Kenshin Himura is a 29 year old "wandering samurai" who looks more like a 15 year old girl. He has long red hair and purple/blue eyes, and a cross-shaped scar on one cheek. (Watsuki himself said he looked like a girl, so don't yell at me!) He's been traveling the country ever since the war, wielding a sakabato (reverse-blade sword) and the ancient swordstyle Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu.

Kenshin's name was originally Shinta. After he was orphaned at a very young age, he was picked up by some slave traders and was with them until the caravan was attacked by bandits. A samurai named Hiko arrived and killed the bandits after they killed the slavers, leaving little Shinta the only survivor. Hiko renamed him Kenshin and took him in and taught him to fight.

Around the age of 14, Kenshin ran away to work as an assassin during the war. He eventually gained for himself the name "Hittokiri Battosai" (Battosai the Manslayer in the dub). After a series of events that left his face scarred (too big of a spoiler for me to go into) and after the war ended, he traded his sword in for a reverse-blade and vowed never to kill again. He became a "rurouni" (derived from "ronin", right?) and wandered for 10 years, trying to atone for the blood on his hands. At last he met and befriended Kaoru Kamiya, a teenaged girl trying to run her family sword arts dojo (her family is dead). Kenshin was very impressed with her naïve belief in "swords that bring life" and ended up staying at her dojo, ending his years of wandering.

Various bad guys come around – mostly people who knew him from the past and want to make him into a killer again. He comes very close a few times, but never breaks his vow. One advantage the manga has over the anime is that there's an entire arc the anime leaves out, the Enishi saga, in which Kenshin faces his darkest demons of all. You learn the most personal stuff about him there. In the end of the (manga) series, Watsuki skips ahead about four years and shows Kenshin and Kaoru married with a son.

For specific questions, or help finding more info, please email me or leave the questions in a review. I'll try to add more notes when needed.

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - Either that, or I do, and I'm just taking it out on him. LOL. Glad you're enjoying. (grins)


	16. Chapter 15: Questioning

Chapter Fifteen:

Questioning

* * *

It was always amazing for him to observe how Omi could so effortlessly get _anything_ he wanted from _anyone_ who happened to be foolish enough to be his unfortunate target. With a bat of those innocent eyes and a flash of that guileless smile, Omi Tsukiyono could sway even the most stubborn of souls.

By the time he returned to the table, Aya found that his youngest teammate had worked another of his 'miracles' – wheedling an invitation from Aya's ancestors to stay in their home for the duration of their 'visit.'

"And this is the other room," Kenshin Himura said with a friendly smile as he concluded the small tour of the house. He and his wife were only offering the men of Weiss two rooms, which was more than enough, as far as Aya was concerned. It would have been even better if he hadn't just had a fight with Yohji. "This one has been instructed to offer apologies that there is not more to offer, but the sword arts school is really just beginning to pick up again."

"No, it's all wonderful – much better than we had cause to expect!" Omi assured him brightly. "Thank you again for opening your home to us!"

"Oh, we don't mind…this one just wishes he remembers just exactly _how_ that offer came about…"

Omi laughed uncomfortably, eyes pleading with his teammates to change the subject.

Aya had never really been good with people, anyway – perhaps that was why Omi's 'special ability' was so amazing to him. Even when he _tried_, Aya had never been able to wrap people around his finger like that. His sister, though, _she'd_ been good at it, but Aya only ever ended up making everyone in the room uncomfortable when he tried. He simply lacked that special spark.

"Aya and I will take this one," Yohji announced, setting down his bag just inside the door. "You kids can take the first one. Just be polite – we're guests, so don't wake up the household with pillow fights and rough-housing."

"Don't you think you should take your _own_ advice, Yohji?" Ken demanded.

Aya couldn't pay attention to their little squabble even to feel annoyance. Omi and Ken believed that Yohji and Aya were in love, so they'd been _expecting_ them to insist on sharing a room.

Using Yohji. Lying to his team.

Aya truly had become something despicable. Beyond the fact he was already a murderer.

"Kaoru's students will be arriving shortly, and this one has some housework to do while his wife is busy," Kenshin informed them. "If you wish to get settled and rest from your journey, you should not hesitate to do so."

"Why, I think that sounds _great_," Yohji stated, throwing an arm around Aya's shoulders. He could feel that the blonde man's body was tense – he was still angry, despite Aya's pathetic attempt at an apology. "I think a little R'n'R is _exactly_ what we need."

Aya ducked his head and wondered if he had lost the only thing that had given him peace over the past several months.

If Kenshin realized he was being left out on a joke, he gave no indication. He simply smiled again, told them where they could find clean linens, and went off to do his 'housework.'

Shortly thereafter, Aya found himself alone in the room with Yohji, and he knew with a quiet assurance that he had no choice but to face the blonde and his anger and whatever consequences that entailed.

Steeling himself, he turned to face his lover's wrath.

* * *

The feel of unseen eyes was something any good Ishin Shishi had been forced to become familiar with. Warriors of the Revolution learned to sense the hidden presence of enemies, or they died.

Kenshin Himura used the action of leaning back on his heels and wiping hair from his face to hide his movements as he quietly checked the yard for intruders. Giving away his knowledge of their presence would earn him nothing, but could cost him much.

Wherever they were, they were keeping themselves to the shadows. As he already knew they were there, it was doubtful they would be able to surprise him. They could skulk in the shadows if they wished. He would allow them first strike, and allow it to come in their own time.

It had been many years since a true seeker of strength or vengeance had sought him out here. At the age of thirty-two, he was one of the youngest living veterans of the Bakumatsu. Many of his contemporaries were either dead, or living their lives peacefully in this new age. Men who lived by the sword, who roamed the country searching to challenge their strength, were dying out. They were caught by the police, or killed by their own kind, or they found new lives working in the government or living in the shadows.

Kenshin would have never allowed himself to wed Kaoru, to have a son, were there still the risk of swordsmen with grudges seeking out the legendary Revolutionary, Himura Battosai.

As had been predicted by the Takani Megumi, trusted friend and skilled doctor, Kenshin's small body had continued to rebel against him for the trials he had forced it through in his youth. Still one of the top swordsmen in Japan, Kenshin was finding it increasingly difficult to use the ancient swords style which had made him such a deadly opponent during the war. With each day that passed, his draw became slower, his strike less powerful.

It was his estimate that, within two years, Hiten Mitsurugi-Ryu would be completely and forever beyond his body's capacity to perform.

Even then, however, the small man was insistent – as long as he could hold a sword, he would use it to protect the lives and happiness of those within his sight. It was the least he could do, his soiled soul reminded him constantly, to atone for those lives which he had _failed_ to protect.

The watchers were not going to approach right now, Kenshin decided, returning to the laundry. The sun would be setting soon and he was barely halfway done with his task, and his wife would not care that it had been the excursion into the city which _she_ had suggested which had put him so behind, only that it was nearly night and the laundry remained unfinished.

Kenshin permitted himself a fond sigh. The meaningless everyday squabbles of the household were beautiful things to him. The calm monotony of peaceful domesticity was something he would be thankful for until the day he died – and still, he thought, one of the most beautiful gifts Kaoru had given to him.

That, and her unconditional love, and their son.

The unseen watchers were drawing away, and he permitted himself a little relief. He wouldn't break the peace if all they were going to do was _watch_ him. No need even to mention it to anyone yet.

Kaoru never _had_ learned how very futile it was when she worried, he thought with a private smile. Better her concerns be focused on her school than on his past.

When Kaoru had first become pregnant with Kenji, her only student, Myojin Yahiko, had taken to caring for the dojo. Barely twelve years old at the time, the boy had still done a good job, and had already required for himself quite a reputation as a swordsman in the city. By the time Kaoru was ready to teach again, he had managed to bring in two new students.

Though still young and in training himself, Yahiko now held position as an instructor at the dojo, giving Kaoru time during the day to care for her son. His own training was continued with privately, in the evenings.

Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu was finally climbing back to where it had been before the death of Kaoru's father – not because its master was the wife of Himura Battosai, as Kenshin had once feared, but due to the merit of its own sword. Perhaps one day soon Kaoru's "swords that bring life" would be more than simply a naive ideal.

This new success was good for Kaoru, emotionally _and_ mentally. Kenshin was most thankful that he no longer had to watch the woman he loved worry and fret about money. Three years ago, any guests to the dojo created much stress for the young woman, but now…

"Oro…" Kenshin paused in his work, frowning, at the thought of the four strange boys now under his roof. There was something odd about their guests, but there was one thing that bothered him more than anything else.

How _had_ they managed to wrangle an invitation to stay?

* * *

"We've been told to get some rest," Yohji mused, not looking at Aya. An odd smile twisted his generous mouth. "We probably won't get a better excuse….it'd be a _shame_ to waste it."

The man _couldn't_ be talking about sex – not after the way Aya had been treating him lately. Aya found that, when he wasn't being suggestive, Yohji was difficult to understand.

"We should begin doing recon on the house," he said, crossing his arms and staring at the floor. "We need to know which places are most vulnerable to attack."

"Yeah," the blonde agreed, "But do we have to do it _now_?"

Aya looked at him sharply, and Yohji shrugged, scrubbing a hand backwards through his hair.

"Well, I mean, do you really think they'll plan a hit so soon?"

"I…I don't know," he admitted.

"That is…if you think we should hurry, then fine. Let's go get Ken and Omi. But if we've got more time…" he shrugged again. "That kind of work is better for night, anyway, and honestly...I'm _tired_."

"You are?"

"The thought of a nap makes me salivate right now, honestly."

Aya nodded. He was tired, too.

"And besides," Yohji said quietly, "We need to talk, don't we?"

"Do we?"

"Aya…"

He sighed and gave a reluctant nod. Somehow, he was frightened of this conversation. He'd never wanted to get close to Yohji, but it seemed that even he couldn't completely distance himself when it came to sex. Yohji, he realized, was the closest thing he'd had to a friend in a long time. It wasn't simply the loss of his new mode of stress relief that bothered him.

It was the loss of someone to talk to…to help him put things in perspective when the darkness threatened to consume.

"We can set up the bed first," Yohji offered. "Nobody ever said this kind of thing had to be done standing up…I'm _tired_."

"Okay," Aya wouldn't argue. He felt humbled, and regretful, and, yes, tired, too.

They set up their 'bed' in silence, and it was Yohji who made sure there was room for them to sleep _together_. In silence, Aya turned to take off enough clothes to be comfortable, and when he turned back he found Yohji stripping down to shirt sleeves and very modern underwear and crawling into bed.

Aya moved to join him, lying down and staring at the ceiling.

"We have to talk, Aya."

"…I know."

"If we don't do it now, I think it will be too late later."

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

"So talk," he said.

"You're really going to let it be that easy?"

Aya didn't answer. He knew it when Yohji shifted to look at him, but refused to open his eyes.

"I know you find it hard to believe," Yohji said at last, "But I actually was a pretty good detective back in the day. Asuka didn't do _all_ the work." If saying the name of the woman he'd loved to the face of his current lover was difficult, he gave no indication of it.

"I know there's a difference between playing and picking," Aya stated, voice empty and flat, even to his own ears. "I need to respect you more on missions, even when I think you're being an idiot."

"Well…yeah. But that's not what I'm talking about right now."

Aya opened his eyes. "It's not?"

"You apologized," he shrugged. "That's enough."

"But…"

"We got other problems to deal with, baby," Yohji smiled at him – a quiet, tired, honest expression. "I'm trying to use the old skills to figure you out, but damn it if you're not the hardest to read son of a bitch I've ever met in my life."

"Yohji…"

"So help me out here, okay?"

Aya swallowed. "I'll try," he promised.

"We'll both be unflinchingly honest?"

"Yes."

"Good." Yohji nodded and rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head. "Good. Now…where to begin?"

They shared a few moments of thoughtful silence.

"You…" Yohji hesitated. "You came to me because you knew you were about to break…because if you didn't do something stupid and destructive to take the edge off everything, you weren't going to last much longer…and we were both just…really fucking lucky…that it was good between us. It wasn't a one-time thing because we both _really_ enjoyed it. It helped us both."

"You really think it was good?" Aya hadn't been completely virginal when he'd attacked Yohji, but he'd been close.

Yohji laughed. "I know you think I'm a horny pervert, Aya, but really," he chuckled, "Do you have _any_ idea how rare it is for me to keep wanting someone after I've already had sex with them?"

"I…"

Yohji laughed again, throwing an arm up over his eyes. "_Gods_…Aya, your body is fucking _addictive_. Honestly? It's almost all I've been able to think of since we started this. Most of the time, there's nothing but lust motivating me – not the 'need for release' like you. I mean, shit…if I could get away with it, you'd never wear clothes again. It's not sex, it's…it's _you_."

Aya almost felt like stopping him. Hearing this was…

"You're so fucking gorgeous…and you're _face_ while I'm inside you…the noises you make…"

"Stop it."

Yohji fell silent, but only for a moment.

"Before I met Asuka," he said at last, "I used to date both men _and_ women. After her, though…after her, I only wanted women. Krittiker's shrinks told me that I was subconsciously trying to replace her, but would never be able to, because I wasn't willing to let anyone _different_ have a chance…" his mouth turned down into a frown. "I didn't hesitate to sleep with _you_, though," he continued. "And I haven't regretted it once. Do you think that means I've finally started to get over it?"

"A think you're going to regret letting me hear this."

"Hm…" again, Yohji fell silent for a few moments.

"Do you even have a point?" Aya asked at last.

"Maybe. Aya…you _need_ this…whatever the hell it is we're doing. And…I think _I_ need it, too…but you can't just accept that, can you? You can't stand the thought of using someone…but you can't stand the thought of being in a relationship with me, either."

Aya didn't answer. They both knew Yohji was right.

"Do you know how amazing you are, Aya, that you can still have a morality crisis like this?"

"You don't?"

"Not the way you do – and no matter what I tell you, you're not going to be able to magically accept the fact that I'm just as responsible for our actions as you are."

"Is that it?" he asked softly.

"Yeah…I think that's our problem."

Silence between them again. Yohji shifted, and his arm went around Aya, hand sliding in plast his collar to touch the bare skin of his chest.

"I shouldn't treat you like a therapist," Aya found himself saying quietly. "I…when something was bothering me, I used to go to my sister. Even after the…the accident…she couldn't answer me, but it was good to have someone to talk to."

"And now that they've taken her, and you can't see her anymore, you don't have anyone."

"Yes," Aya admitted with difficulty.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"I deserved it."

"No – I was in a bad mood. I…I _want_ to be the one you come to. It just doesn't work when we're just using each other…fuck buddies don't do that."

"You…want more?"

"No. At least…not right now."

"Then what?"

"Do you think you could relax enough to be friends?"

"Friends?"

"Friends…with _benefits_." Yohji grinned for a moment, then turned serious again. "I don't mind you coming to me when you want to talk, but you have to realize that _I_ can't stay detached if you do that. I'll _have_ to care for you, _at least_ as a friend."

"I…"

"The other way isn't working. We both know it. We're gonna end up hating each other if we don't let ourselves get at least a little closer."

"Okay," Aya at last closed his eyes. He felt…_right_…with that solution. "I…I can try."

Yohji brushed his fingers softly against his cheek, snuggling closer. "That's all I can ask," he murmured.

* * *

tbc

Next chapter: "You mean to tell me you really _are_ the devil?"

**Kenshin notes** – definitions paraphrased from the manga glossary.

Ishin Shishi – patriots who fought for the emperor during the Revolution

Bakumatsu – the last days of the Tokugawa shogunate's rule

Hiten Mitsurugi-Ryu – Kenshin's sword technique. Kenshin and his master are the only two masters of this style, which focuses more on defense than on offense, and is known for its power and "godlike" speed. This style pushes the body's limits to the extreme and, because of Kenshin's small form, has began to take its toll on him. Kenshin intends for Hiten Mitsurugi to die with him; however, according to Watsuki, his son Kenji learns the technique just from hearing others speak about it.

Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu – Kaoru's family sword style, whose ethics lay in "katsujin-ken", or, "Swords that bring life." (Rather than satsujin-ken, swords that bring death.)

**Response to Unsigned Reviews:**

glinwulf - thanks!

CaT70 - hm. You know, I'm not sure?


	17. Chapter 16: Fears

No review response for this chapter, simply because it's been so long since the last one. Apologies all around.

Chapter Sixteen

Fears

* * *

"You mean to tell me you really _are_ the devil? _Scheisse_. Do I have time to change my vote?"

The figure at the window jumped and turned quickly, and for just a moment those dark, guarded eyes were worried and relieved and guilty, all at once.

Schuldig let his most irritating grin spread across his face. Why pretend he hadn't seen the expression when it was sure to bring him entertainment for _years_ to come?

"Ah, _Vater_. I didn't know you _cared_."

Ice swept over that face, overshadowing Crawford's pretty features completely, and utterly destroying the expression Schuldig had been taking such delight in.

"You were dead for nearly a full minute."

"I was? Cool."

"Schuldig."

"Ah? Right, right." Schuldig heaved a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. "Sorry for dying – I won't do it again?"

"Schuldig!"

He let his amusement fade, eyes snapping from wickedness to annoyance in mere seconds. "Is this the part where you blame me for not keeping a better watch on him?" he demanded. "I'm not the one who can predict the future – how should _I_ have known he'd react so badly to _Kontrolleur_? He'd been really stable lately."

"_You're_ his caretaker."

"Tch. Guess I should have _stayed_ dead," he grumbled, slouching down against the pillows and crossing his arms. He didn't question the fact that, after waking from an injury that had nearly killed him, he felt absolutely fine. That bastard Hollister had brought at least two healers.

There was one thing, however, which he _did_ question.

"I suppose Arrow will expect to be repaid for the resources used in bringing me back from the dead?" he demanded bitterly.

"He asked," Crawford nodded, "I, however, declined."

"How sweet of you to defend my honor! Or…is it charity?"

"Neither affection nor charity," Crawford answered stiffly. "The very hierarchy of order would be endangered if I permitted 'payment' for something that was his duty to offer to begin with."

"So practical," Schuldig sighed, feeling hurt. He would rather have Crawford force him to repay Hollister – at least then he would know he'd gotten _some_ sort of reaction out of his leader. Anger was far better than cool logic. "You make me feel like a chair," he blurted suddenly.

"A…chair?"

"Or a table or a beanbag."

"A beanbag."

"Or…fuck. I don't know. Some strictly utilitarian something you use without consideration."

"Without…? Schuldig…"

"Well? Do you ever _consider_ whether or not a chair _feels_ like being sat on?" he pouted.

Crawford watched him in silence for a few moments, a bemused expression on his face.

"Is _that_ why you've been such an unholy hellcat lately, Schu?" he asked at last, softly.

"I'd rather be your enemy than your chair."

"And I've already made it clear you won't be my lover."

"Yes."

Crawford sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached out to comb his fingers through Schuldig's hair, and for the first time the telepath realized what a mess it was, tangled with dirt and sweat and blood.

Schuldig was vain – but he knew from the minds of others that when he was disheveled and bruised and dirty it only made him _more_ wildly beautiful, and more deceptively fragile.

He widened his eyes and softened his mouth, knowing that by doing so he would appear heartbreakingly young, even doll-like.

"Don't you know how I _despise_ fighting with you, Brad?" he asked softly. "Don't you see how I long to mean _something_ to you – even if that something is an enemy?"

"Ah, Schuldig…you are so pretty, so dangerous," Crawford chuckled. "Esset has really created a monster with you, haven't they? Giving you the weapons of those petty tricks…teaching you how to use those considerable charms of yours is something the entire world will mourn one day, isn't it? You're poison."

"And you don't even want a taste?"

Crawford withdrew his hand, expression growing stern once more. "Is it really such torture for you to fail to incite strong emotions in others?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Emotion is the path to ownership. You, Schuldig, will never own me."

"Then…war it is, Brad?"

"War it is."

He closed his eyes and threw back his head and laughed.

"War – as long as you're still Schwarz," Crawford amended.

"Luckily for you, there's nowhere else for me to go," he chuckled, swiping tears from his eyes. "Oh, Brad, I'm going to make you _suffer_."

"A suitable price to pay if it means keeping you," Crawford began to rise, and Schuldig caught his hand.

"No, stay a little longer," he urged.

"Going to get a start on your battle plan early?"

"No, no, you have a temporary time-out, pretty Brad. Sit with me and talk to me, and we'll pretend to be friends for a little while longer."

"You're a brat, Schuldig," Crawford sighed, but he sat down, nevertheless.

The telepath grinned cheekily at him.

"How long was I unconscious?"

"A few hours. Don't try to get out of bed until tomorrow, at the earliest."

Schuldig waved away the warning. He knew as well as anyone how weak the body was post-healing, and he had no intention of doing something stupid and risky like trying to rise too soon.

"And Farf?"

"They patched him up and locked him in the cellar. Fortunate that we did not forget to bring his restraints."

"He's gonna be a lot of fun on this trip, isn't he?"

"So it would seem."

"And Nagi?"

"Hollister and his men are attempting to move tonight. I sent Nagi to be my eyes. They won't succeed tonight, but I want nothing kept from me where our fellow agents are concerned."

"And you want him out of the house."

"He'd fond of you," he nodded. "He was…concerned."

"Good," Schuldig smiled and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

"I take it to mean I'm dismissed, then?" Crawford asked wryly.

"Unless you want to tell me a bedtime story."

* * *

"Ken – seriously – stop it."

"Huh? I'm not doing anything!"

A few moments passed in silence before he heard his younger teammate sit up in his bedding. Even from the other side of the room, Ken could feel his glare.

"Stop it!" Omi commanded again.

Ken didn't open his eyes. "What the hell am I doing?" he demanded.

"You…" the younger boy hesitated, clearly flustered. "You're…_listening_!" he accused at last.

Silence fell for a moment. Then, Ken began to sit up slowly.

"What?"

Omi was blushing, but his expression remained determined. "It's not funny – it's creepy!" he said. "You're trying to listen to see if they're…if Yohji and Aya…if they're about to…" his blush darkened furiously. "Stop is!" he ordered again.

At the shop, Ken and Yohji's rooms shared a wall, and so the athlete had long ago had to learn to deal with having his sleep disturbed by the occasional moan or creaking mattress in the middle of the night. When Yohji began to consistently see one very loud lover, Ken had been annoyed, but resigned to the annoyance.

Learning that Yohji's new, very loud lover was none other than the coldly professional leader of Weiss, though, was an entirely different matter. He could never ignore such a disturbing development.

Which made it worse that the conspicuous absence of sound from the next room was bothering him enough to keep him from sleep.

"Why's it so quiet over there?" he demanded, giving up at last on his pretense.

Omi heaved a heavy, exasperated sigh.

"It's quiet because they're resting!" he said. "Just like I wish _I_ could be doing! Just like _you_ should be doing!"

"I'm sorry." _Sorry that Yohji was such a pervert._ "I'll try to relax. You're right – after today, we _do_ need all the rest we can get."

"I would really appreciate that."

Silence fell and Ken laid back down. Ken closed his eyes and tried to ignore the unnatural quiet that surrounded him. No moans from the next room, no traffic outside – how was he _ever_ going to get _any_ sleep?

"Do you think they had a fight, and _that's_ why they're not doing anything?" Omi asked suddenly. He sounded worried.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"You don't think they'll decide to break up…do you?"

Ken rolled onto his side, and looked at Omi through the dim lighting of the room. "Why's it so important to you that they be in love?" he asked. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well talk. "Is this about those dirty manga I found in your room that time?"

"No!" Omi's voice was full of embarrassment. No doubt he was blushing again. "It…it's because…because I want Weiss to stay close. Forever."

"Forever?"

"Don't make fun of me!" he shot.

"I'm not. I just…how does them being together have anything to do with Weiss?"

"Ayan and Yotan…we're going to lose one of them if we aren't careful, Ken," he said quietly. "They…they're both really close to breaking. They need _someone_ – why not each other?"

* * *

The night possessed a silence and a stillness that Aya, having spent most of his life in a modern city, was largely unfamiliar with. Under other circumstances, he thought he might have even enjoyed it.

An hour and a half had been more than enough time for a quick nap, and Aya had woken feeling surprisingly refreshed and…peaceful. He didn't want to think much about it, but he reluctantly had to admit that his conversation with Yohji…and the decision that they had reached…well, he _felt_ better after that.

Kenshin hadn't come into the room, or even opened the door, when he had come to tell them that, if they wanted to, they could come and eat some dinner.

"This one is not the world's most skilled cook," he'd said in that strange, overly-formal way he had, "However, you might consider yourselves lucky that Kaoru was teaching her evening class tonight. After a long journey, stomachs unfamiliar with her particular culinary style…sometimes fail to accept the nourishment."

She had overheard his words, and proceeded to act insulted. It seemed a familiar game for the two.

Aya had chosen to slip away as soon as was possible and polite. If they were going to be staying at the dojo, then he wanted a better understanding of the layout and potential weaknesses of the place – for the safety of himself and his team, as well as his ancestors. He wanted to know every inch of every foot, so as to be able to predict and defend against possible attack.

Still…

Despite the fact that his mind was on work, Aya felt…warm…inside. Almost as if he were alive for the first time in years. Did he owe it to the presence of family, after so long alone?

Or was it the promise of friendship with his lover and the resulting, immediate relief of the guilt that had plagued him ever since their arrangement had begun?

He found that he wanted to enjoy the quiet and the solitude of the evening – of the dealings of being so very far from all of the cruelties of the world he knew. He almost resented the fact that he felt obligated to work.

He felt, rather than saw, a presence approaching him from behind, and he came very close to smiling. In this strange, rare mood, he was more than willing to be cornered and seduced in the garden. Between the rest they had gotten earlier and the conversation they'd had, there was nothing more he wanted than to have Yohji's long, strong body moving against…_within_…his own.

"Are you trying to sneak up on me, Yohji?" he asked, surprised and pleased that some trace of his good humor managed to find its way into his voice.

There was no answer from the blonde.

"I've already caught you!" Aya chuckled, turning.

It wasn't Yohji who stood waiting for him.

At the sight of two strangers, Aya felt his happy mood fall away, dashed quickly and mercilessly against the ice in his soul. There was nothing to give these two away as enemies, and yet somehow he knew they had to be Esset.

"Wait," one of them said, peering at him oddly, as the other took a confident step forward.

"What?" the other demanded. "Small. Red hair. Purple eyes. That's what she said – you think there's two that look like that around here?"

"My motto has always been to _never_ regret the presence of someone beautiful.:

The first man jerked backwards with a strangled, sickening sound, hands flying to his throat. Yohji emerged slowly from the shadows, pulling his wire taut around the operative's neck.

The other cursed, moving to draw a gun, and whatever it was that had held Aya silent and immobile was suddenly gone. He didn't have his sword on him, but it didn't matter. He struck at the other man –

Aya found himself flying backwards. Yohji, his wire snapping suddenly, did the same. His target fell to his knees – wheezing desperately, but still alive. Aya attempted to rise, but found himself unable to do so. It was as if an invisible hand were pressing down upon him, forcing him to remain immobile.

"Retreat," a cold, young, and cringingly familiar voice ordered the operatives.

"Our target - !"

"That man is not your target." Prodigy's voice stated. "Retreat, or you face more opposition than you can handle."

"_Fuck_!" one of them cursed.

It was several moments after hearing the sounds of their retreat fall away that the pressure upon Aya finally lessened. He drew in his breath quickly, hungrily, and heard Yohji do the same.

"Bastards work fast, don't they?" the blonde asked with an obviously forced attempt at lightness. By his voice, Aya knew that he was slowly pulling himself to his feet.

The small swordsman remained where he was.

"At least…now we can be sure we're in the right place," he said softly.

"Baby, there wasn't a moment of doubt about that!" Yohji stated with a laugh. When he extended a hand to help Aya to his feet, the man only stared at it. "Don't be an ass," the blonde added with a tired sigh.

Aya reluctantly accepted the help, and only resisted a little when the blonde pulled him into his arms.

"I thought it was you," he admitted. "I was careless, because I thought you were coming to seduce me."

"I _was_ coming to seduce you," Yohji's lips brushed his temple in a gesture that had nothing whatsoever to do with lust. The man was unsettled, his arms trembling finely. "Thank the gods I was."

"We need to tell Omi and Ken that Esset is already moving," Aya tried to pull away, but Yohji's arms only tightened.

"Tomorrow morning. They won't strike again before then."

"I…couldn't move."

"Shit, Aya. They were going to take you."

"You think I don't know that?" again, Aya tried to pull away – more violently this time. Yohji's arms tightened once again.

"This mission is really starting to scare the shit out of me."

"So you want me."

"I want to feel your heartbeat against mine." Yohji buried his face against his hair. He was trembling him even worse now.

Aya realized that his lover was afraid. Somehow, finding Aya alone, immobile, and in danger had terrified the blonde.

Then Yohji released him and was stepping quickly away. He knew how obvious he was being about his feelings, and knew that Aya would notice.

"I…"

"I'm going to ignore that, this time," Aya stated softly. He looked away, finding he couldn't meet the blonde's gaze. "And consider your concern nothing more than what is appropriate for a teammate…or a…a friend. I don't have the energy to fight with you about your feelings right now, and…I don't want to be alone."

* * *

tbc

Next Chapter: Schuldig is a mommy.

Again - sorry for lack of review response. I'll try to do better next time, I promise! For consolation, go check out today's entry in my lj for something cute (9/8/08). -K


	18. Chapter 17: Penalty

Penalty

* * *

"I can't believe you did that so fast!"

"Stop looking over my shoulder and go sit down."

"Look – I think you even managed to get most of the dimensions right!"

"Kudoh." Aya caught the hand that reached over his shoulder. It was clear to all watching what it cost him to close his eyes and take a deep breath before continuing. "You're crowding me," he said at last. His voice was cold, but far more gentle than it would have otherwise been.

Ken raised his eyebrows in surprise, exchanging a confused glance with Omi. Sure, the two were dating – but since when did that mean Aya actually tried to be _nice_ to his lover?

For a moment, Yohji appeared to startled as well, and then he smiled, as if delighted.

"Sorry," he said. When Aya released him, he moved to sit beside him – far enough to give him space, but not so far as to make it look like he was insulted.

"The Esset operatives came from here," Aya said, after a few moments of silence, pointing to a section on his makeshift, hastily drawn map. "I believe Prodigy was located here." he added, pointing to a spot a little further out. "I doubt that they knew he was there until he interfered."

"Why there?" Ken asked. "Isn't the front gate weaker?"

"One always expects an attack from the front," Aya answered emotionlessly. "This corner of the yard is actually very suitable for attack. So near the visual impetus of the bathhouse, an intruder could get halfway to the main quarters before he even encountered anyone."

"So we gotta keep a watch there," Yohji mused.

"Okay," Omi clapped his hands decisively. "Let's take a look at what we _know_, and go from there."

"Those bastards tried to take Aya, so Kenshin must be the one they're after," Yohji stated. "Also, they must not have a good watch on the house yet, or they would have known they were going after the wrong guy."

"Kenshin is the oldest in the household. They probably think that taking him will have the least effect on the future," Aya said.

"How old can he be though, really?" Yohji asked. "I mean, I would be surprised if he was much older than _any_ of us."

"Esset doesn't care about hurting the future," Ken snorted.

"Even they have to be a little careful."

"Either way, if they get too desperate, it isn't out of the question that they might decide to target Kaoru or Kenji if they look like easier targets," Omi pointed out.

"So we need to keep that in mind," he nodded.

"Good!" the youngest Weiss gave a far-too-peppy cheer. "Next – Esset knows we're here…"

"But _we_ know _Schwarz_ is here," Ken cracked his knuckles, grinning meaningly. "I think that makes us even."

"The operatives were surprised when Prodigy interfered," Aya pointed out, brining up an earlier point.

"So they didn't know Schwarz was here either?"

"No, they _should_ have known that. But I don't think Prodigy was supposed to be there last night."

"So…" Yohji glanced at his lover. "You think there could be a rift in the Esset ranks?"

"It's possible," he nodded.

"We might be able to use that," Omi mused. "Right. Okay, then, what next? Oh! What about the - ?"

He stopped abruptly, and all four Weiss looked up guiltily as the door slid open.

Kenshin looked surprised, and a little embarrassed, to find all of their eyes immediately focused on him.

"Oh!…apologies – this one was unaware that you were still in here!" he said.

"Um…business meeting," Yohji told him, as Omi tried to hide the maps Aya had made.

"Oh, of course! This one was going to tidy up – he will return once you are all finished, then."

"Hey? Kenshin?" Yohji called as he began to leave. He had to ignore the look of disapproval Omi shot him for addressing their host so informally. "How old are you?"

The small man looked startled by the question.

"Oro?"

"Just curious."

"Um…" his eyes rolled upwards thoughtfully. To the amazement and amusement of Weiss, he began counting on his fingers. "How old, indeed? Perhaps…thirty-one?"

"_Thirty - ?_" Yohji began to cough.

"Only a rough estimate, but…yes, this one believes it may be close to accurate," he blinked his large, innocent eyes at the clearly-shocked men of Weiss. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Omi said weakly. "Thanks. We'll get out of your way soon."

He smiled and retreated out of the room.

_Thirty-one?_ Yohji mouthed, eyes wide. Aya patted his arm, actually looking slightly amused.

"What now?" Ken whispered, eyes on the door. Kenshin hadn't closed it.

Aya turned his eyes on him, expression closing off into its usual blank mask.

"We go hunting for Esset."

* * *

It was almost as if time stood still – that motionless, shocking, silent stretch that followed the harsh sound of flesh striking flesh.

His cheek stung, but his mind refused to register what had happened. He couldn't connect one event to the next for several long, silent moments.

Nagi had been beaten many times in his life, but it had been a long time since it had last happened. With few exceptions, Nagi had not been treated in such a harsh manner since the day Crawford had taken him from the orphanage.

It was true that there were times when he screwed up and endangered the team, forcing Crawford to act. Unlike Schuldig, Nagi recognized the fact that, if calm, controlled Bradley Crawford resorted to _hitting_ him, then he had done something wrong and it was important he learned his lesson.

But Crawford protected Nagi as he did not protect Schuldig or Farfarello. He would punish him for his mistakes, but never allowed anyone _else_ to do so. Crawford never let anyone touch him.

Until today.

He blinked slowly, trying to understand what had just happened, why there was such fury in Hollister's face, and why Crawford hadn't stopped him. Why, even now, his leader was not stepping in to voice his displeasure.

"Answer me!" Hollister demanded

What had been the question? He couldn't wrap his mind around his surprise enough to remember what had been asked.

_He wants to know why you were following his men, and why you stopped them._

Schuldig's mental voice breezed through his mind, bringing him strength and courage. Lifting his head, Nagi looked at the older Talent, who still appeared pale and weak after yesterday's altercation with Farfarello.

Nagi shuddered.

"Yes," Crawford said. "Answer him, Nagi. Why _would_ you participate in such a gross breach of protocol?

"I…"

_He's going to be _pissed_ if you rat him out,_ Schuldig warned privately. Using his telepathy so soon was clearly having a bad effect on him, but he was gritting his teeth and stubbornly holding on. He would never leave Nagi to suffer alone.

Nagi bowed his head, silently vowing not to answer.

_Be brave_, Schuldig advised. _He won't hold back if you defy him._

Hollister's eyes flashed in fury.

When it was over, and his blood was dripping slowly onto the mats, and Hollister and his people were leaving the room, Crawford approached at last.

"I told you not to be seen," he stated, and then he, too, left.

"He gets closer to the edge every day," Schuldig sighed, sitting down on the floor in front of Nagi and handing him a handkerchief as negligently as if it were an afterthought. "The less control he feels he has, the worse he gets. He didn't See what happened last night, and he can't stand it. Tch. What a fucking idiot."

"Schuldig…"

"I'm not checking on you or anything," he insisted, tossing his head. "I've been on my feet for too long, that's all. I'm just sitting here because I need to rest."

"Thank you."

He snorted dismissively, and looked away. Nagi realized his friend was embarrassed.

"It's…not any safer here than it is anywhere else, kid," Schuldig said at last. "Especially lately."

"Yeah…" he patted gingerly at his face, but the bleeding would not stop. With an irritated noise, Schuldig turned to him and grabbed the handkerchief back, placing it against the worst of the injuries – a long, deep gash in his temple – and pressing down on it hard enough to make the younger Schwarz hiss in discomfort.

"Do your floatie-thing and bring me the med kit," Schuldig ordered.

"Floatie-thing?" somehow, even in the worst of circumstances, Schuldig could bring him amusement.

Too bad smiling hurt so much.

"Wipe that look off your face!" the telepath groused, catching the box of medical supplies and rummaging impatiently through it.

"What?"

"Like some puppy, or…" his eyes flashed. "I am _not_ your mommy!"

Whatever memories Nagi had of his natural family were things he chose not to entertain. Still, he knew that, as far as _his_ life went, Schuldig was family. As foolish and wasteful and irresponsible as he acted, as dangerous and volatile and self-centered as he could be, he was the only reliable thing in Nagi's life.

"That's really pathetic," Schuldig informed him, and he didn't care that the man was reading his thoughts. Schuldig had never treated him like a freak or an obligation or an inconvenience. He was the _only_ one to ever do that consistently.

"All right! All right! _Fine!_" Schuldig heaved a heavy, reluctant sigh. "Fine. I'll be your mommy. But I expect a present for mother's day. You know – a string of pearls, a pair of designer shoes, some new dishwashing gloves. _Anything_."

The normally somber boy had to fight the urge to laugh. Schuldig, in an impressive parody of innocence, continued to clean his wounds as if completely unaware that he had said anything out of the ordinary.

"Oh," Schuldig tsked, ignoring the rules of hygiene as he used his teeth to open a band-aid. "I don't see any that need stitches, but if that bastard scarred you, he'd gonna face my wrath. Did you know you were such a bleeder? Really, it's scary. You have to promise me never to do it again."

"What? _Bleed?_"

"Yes!"

Maybe it was Schuldig, and not Crawford, who was the real strength of Schwarz. Wild and wicked as he was, Schuldig also had a lot more responsibilities than anyone gave him credit for. He took care of Farfarello – was fond of him, even, despite the man's tendency to attack things. He took care of Nagi, too.

And, he realized with a flash of insight, he also took care of Crawford.

"_Ja, ja,"_ Schuldig mumbled dismissively. "I'm the mommy. We've established that. Are you concussed? Your mind's all sweet and affectionate right now – cute, but not my special emo boy I love so well."

"You _could_ be the overly-feminine step brother."

"I'm not feminine! Even if I _am_ the mommy."

Nagi thought about it.

"Well," he said, "You aren't masculine."

"I'm Schuldig. I am too great and powerful to ever be constrained by traditional gender roles!" Schuldig leaned back to examine his work, then gave a sudden grin. He kissed the tip of his index finger, and tapped Nagi's nose with it. "There! All done. Don't you look cute all bandaged up? Like…an adorable mummy."

He still felt a little shaken, his world turned topsy-turvy by Crawford's failure to protect him, but he wasn't broken, either. He wasn't going to bring the house down in an explosion of painful emotion.

"Did Crawford tell you to stay here and make sure I was okay?" he asked. "Or did you decide to do it on your own?"

Busy cleaning up the med supplies, Schuldig didn't answer the question.

"So Weiss _did_ make it safely?" the telepath asked at last.

Nagi sighed. Sometimes, Schuldig's attraction to the other team was annoying – and it _always_ made Nagi uncomfortable. Schuldig once described it to him as 'an instinctual, impossible-to-resist, draw.' He'd claimed that he couldn't help himself.

"They're just all so pretty!" he'd said playfully, eyes flashing in that way they did when he was about to bring disaster down over all their heads. "How can you fault me for wanting to play with them?"

Nagi didn't have even the slightest Talent for prediction, but whenever Schuldig began to focus on Weiss, it always gave him a strange, queasy feeling.

Nagi shuddered, and refused to answer.

* * *

tbc

Next Chapter: "Come on, show a little gratitude – I'm here to save your ass."

A small Kenshin note: there's a very funny scene in a side-story of the manga (actually, I think it wasn't a side-story, but the very original opener, which Watsuki later tossed out) where Kenshin is asked his age and has no idea, so he begins to count on his fingers, asking, "How old, indeed?"

Naturally, I couldn't resist referencing it. In any case, his response later on in the actual series is similar, so I take it he doesn't really keep up with it.

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - You know I adore Schu. (grins) Oooh, but you have no idea how I have to fight with myself to keep each and every chapter from being nothing but sugury Yohji/Aya fluff.

glinwolf - thanks


	19. Chapter 18: Altercation

Chapter Eighteen

Altercation

* * *

"Do you usually buy it all at once?"

Kenshin looked back, and couldn't stop an amused smile at the sight of the dojo's four guests, struggling and straining under the heavy bundles of rice, salt, and miso. Kaoru had a rather bad habit of waiting until she was out of everything, then sending Kenshin out shopping.

Because of the presence of their guests who, in his wife's opinion, needed to earn their keep _somehow_, Kaoru had decided that even more of the essential items than usual needed to be purchased.

"We can stock up while you have help carrying everything," she'd said while trying to persuade him. "And then you won't have to go again for a long time!"

He'd been reluctant at first, but the truth was that there wasn't anything wrong with asking the boys to help out while they were staying with them. As far as Kenshin could tell, they'd made no move yet to find a new source for their 'business' (whatever that was, they still hadn't explained) and neither had they tried to find somewhere else – somewhere more permanent than the dojo – to stay. They had never once mentioned the idea of giving up and going back to wherever it was they had come from.

"We're being taken advantage of by bums!" Yahiko had stated, despite the fact that he no longer lived in the dojo. He didn't think to make the connection that he, and Kenshin too, initially, had not been in a situation so very different than theirs. Kenshin privately thought that their guests had no business in the city at all.

As long as they were willing to help out, however, and as long as they didn't cause any trouble, then he saw no problem with their staying.

At least for a little while, in any case.

"Apologies," he said with a smile. "This one's wife is not very good at managing the shopping list."

"We really gotta carry this all the way back?" one of them grumbled softly under his breath, thinking that he couldn't be heard. It was the tall blonde, Yohji, who's been the most reluctant to agree to help out.

Every time he looked at the lanky man, Kenshin felt privately thankful that his good friend Sanosuke Sagara was out of the country. He had the oddest feeling that having these two in the same city would lead to trouble. The blonde, who seemed to have some sort of comment for everything and didn't appear overly concerned with manners or others' feelings reminded him quite a bit of his loud, enthusiastic friend.

The redheaded man, Aya, gave a cold-eyes glare and kicked at the blonde, and Yohji only laughed.

Looking at _that_ one was still a little startling. Kenshin had never in memory met anyone who looked quite so much like him, or had coloring so very close to his own.

"Yotan, we're _happy_ to help, remember?" the youngest guest, Omi, urged quietly. Obligingly, Kenshin continued to pretend he couldn't hear them.

"Happy my ass! This is slave labor!"

"It is not!"

"Yohji's such a lazy bastard, he thinks _any_ physical labor is abuse."

"Ken!"

"Aw, I don't mind. Go ahead, Kenken. Ask Aya. I get 'physical' all the time."

"It will get better once we have you neutered," the man in question assured him darkly.

Kenshin found that he liked the small group. Their nearly constant bickering was really quite amusing, for all that it reminded him of some of the bonds he had witnessed between soldiers during the war. Not brothers, perhaps not even friends, but _something_ that made them different from the regular flow of social order. They knew each other.

Despite his liking of them, there was something about them that made him uneasy. It wasn't just the varying dynamics of their relationships that reminded him of soldiers, but something in their actions and way of movement, too. If they were former government workers or deserters…

"We could take a rest, if you are getting tired," Kenshin offered, Yohji's loud, affronted response to the suggestion of 'neutering' too loud to be ignored. "This one would not have asked such a task of you had he not believed you young and strong enough to endure such a heavy burden. His apologies if you…"

"Hey now, I never said I couldn't handle it!" Yohji said, for a moment failing to understand that he was being teased.

"He's kidding," Aya stated. The group had only been of his acquaintance for a few days, yet somehow Kenshin knew already that the small smile he directed at the blonde was a rare thing.

"You _know_ I can handle it!" he groused.

"Of course. You're very strong. Unfortunately, you're also very lazy."

"Hey, can I help it if I find bed a more _pleasurable_ place to be than out here in the sun doing physical labor?"

"Hn. Perhaps we should remove all forms of temptation, then."

"What? Fuck you, man, seriously."

Definitely soldiers of some kind, Kenshin thought, turning away. They spoke like soldiers – all vulgarity and teasing. But what kind of soldiers? That was the question. Even the youngest of them, bright-eyed and innocent as he seemed, had that inescapable feel to him.

And unlike other young adolescent males Kenshin had made the acquaintance of over the years, these four did not possess that hungry violence, that driving need to prove themselves, as so many others did.

It was almost as if they had _already_ seen enough battle for it to have lost its shine. As if they had already had amble occasion to test their mettle and _knew_ how very useless romantic dreams about war really were.

Common enough to see teenaged boys with the eyes of grown men – once, anyway – but they were well into the years of Meiji now. What need was there for child soldiers in times of peace?

Kenshin frowned.

Thoughts of violence and bloodshed stole the earlier lightness of his mood, and he could no longer find amusement in the playful bickering of his young houseguests. Although it had been a long time since he had been forced to yield the sakabato, his reverse blade sword, for the protection of innocents, that did mean he had cause to lapse into complacency.

Had those boys come to the city for violent means? What were the chances that their accidental meeting that day on the street had truly been accidental?

He was almost expecting it when they drew close to the dojo and found an unfamiliar foreign man standing outside waiting for them. Kenshin was not the kind to submit to paranoia, yet he _had_ begun to wonder if this did not have something to do with his past as the hittokiri battosai.

"So," the foreign man said as they drew near the gates. He smiled, flashing a dimple in one cheek. "_This_ is the infamous Weiss."

"_Esset_!" one of Kenshin's houseguests hissed, stopping short.

"I am pleased to see that Prodigy was honest in his report – and even more pleased to at last see your faces…" he had something in his hand, a small rock, and as he spoke he bounced it up and down slowly in his palm. "You certainly don't _look_ like the thorn in the side of Schwarz."

"What have you done with the woman and the child?" Aya demanded, voice cold and sharp. He didn't even hesitate that the man was an enemy.

"Do you think I would resort to such tricks as taking hostages?"

The small man glared fiercely, the look in his eyes one which banished complately any doubt in Kenshin's mind that his guests were killers.

Thinking quickly, Kenshin schooled his features into the familiar mask of harmless innocence he had worn for so many years.

"If you have business here…" he began.

"Business…" the man repeated. He glanced at Kenshin, then laughed. "We'll get to business soon enough. I just have to do a little housecleaning first. You'll sit quiet and be patient, won't you?"

Aya glanced at Kenshin. His face was now something terrifyingly familiar – hard, cold, determined. It was a face Kenshin had once seen every day in the mirror.

"You _will_ stay out of this," Aya ordered.

"This one - !"

"This is _our_ responsibility!"

"Frightened, Abyssinian? We have orders not to kill him. Don't let concern for your family distract you."

His glare shot back to the attacker. "What does this have to do with my sister?"

"How _did_ Krittiker get wind of this?"

He took a menacing step forward. "What are you bastards doing with Aya?" he demanded. "Where is my sister?"

The man only laughed.

"Ah, sweetheart, I don't think he wants to play nice," Yohji drawled. Fire flared momentarily in his hands as he lit a cigarette. He turned his eyes on the man, and it was clear that, despite his casual attitude, he was ready for violence – like a cat gone still and quiet and ready to spring into attack. "We're going to have to be a little more persuasive."

"There will be no killing in this place," Kenshin said, his own voice growing hard as two more strange men drifted toward their group, their stances and movements making it clear that they were a part of this as well. He earned everyone's attention as he exerted some of his heavy battle chi to emphasize his point. Hiten Mitsurugi may be rapidly slipping from his grasp, but he could still use his sword for the protection of others – and he was determined that no blood should be shed outside of the place where he had finally found such peace.

"We won't kill him before I get my answers," Aya stated dismissively.

Again the strange man laughed.

"Schuldig was right. You kitties _are_ fun."

"Schuldig is _always_ right!" a new voice announced arrogantly. Heads craned upwards; yet another strange man had joined them. He was standing perched atop the gate as steadily as if he stood on solid ground. Blue-green eyes flashed playfully, a troublesome smile spreading across his face as he tossed his mane of wild, flame-colored hair. "You should know that, Arrow!"

"Schuldig!"

"Come on – show a little gratitude! I _am_ here to save your ass, after all. Much to my own dismay, let me add!" with no sign of fear or difficulty, he leapt nimbly to the ground.

"I'm going to have to have a talk with Crawford about allowing his men to break protocol," the first man said, clearly annoyed. "It is quite obvious that he needs to keep a tighter leash on you."

The newcomer flashed a smile – a wild, ferocious, _dangerous_ smile.

"We'll have to argue about that later!" he said, tossing his hair again. "You tend to forget the safe words."

"Mastermind, you _will_ return to base."

"I'm playing messenger boy, not whipping boy, today. Crawford says not to engage Weiss. He says doing so would _definitely_ be a Bad Thing."

"These children?"

"Hm. But I'm keeping them all restrained right now, aren't I?" he asked, tapping his temple mockingly. "Or didn't you wonder why no one's reached for their weapons yet?"

"They aren't armed."

"Balinese and Bombay are. And look at Abyssinian's face. He's pissed – aren't you, pretty kitty? They would slaughter you _and_ your men right now, _without _weapons, because a team of three isn't nearly enough when you've made the mistake of underestimating killers like these."

He looked at the group again, smiling.

"Himura, Abyssinian, and Balinese are very close to breaking my hold on their minds," he said, almost sounding fond. "It's why they've even been able to speak. Soon they may very well break my hold completely – of course, I'm hardly in any sort of shape to press the issue. Do you want to risk it? I could let them go if you don't believe Brad's word."

He was taunting him – taking clear, malicious pleasure in it. He was missing any element of caution whatsoever.

"What…are you?" Kenshin asked.

The man looked at him again, eyes dancing with amusement.

"Well, Arrow?" he asked tauntingly, eyes locked on Kenshin. "I don't remember you being a gambling man."

"And I don't remember you being such a great fool."

"Going senile already, eh?"

"_Fine_," clearly unhappy, the man motioned to his people.

Kenshin's vision blurred momentarily, hiding their exit, as a voice breezed silently through his mind.

_Don't forget to get answers from them, papa kitty_, the voice ordered.

When his vision cleared, all of the attackers were gone.

* * *

A hand grasped his wrist and a hard chest pressed into his arm in an urgent, secretive manner.

"Let me go back!" a voice hissed in his hear.

Aaron Hollister shot a quick glance at the back of the flame haired man leading their retreat before turning his head to look at his agent.

"Gloom," he began softly.

"That blonde bastard got me by surprise the first time!" he whispered, clutching his arm hard enough to hurt as, with his other hand, he clawed at his collar to expose the thin lines left from the bite of the Krittiker assassin's wire. Gloom had insisted that they _not_ be healed, wanting a reminder of his own carelessness. "I want a chance to settle the score."

"You don't trust Schwarz's warnings?"

"I know you are fond of their leader, and so, out of respect to you, I will neglect to answer that."

Hollister frowned. It was true that he still considered Bradley Crawford a friend, but the man was rapidly fraying. Whatever it was about this mission that had caused him to involve his team, the stress of it was clearly beginning to take its toll.

"If you want to ignore Oracle's visions, then I won't stop you from privately slipping away."

"Thank you!"

"Gloom – one last thing!" he said quickly. He observed his eager agent for a moment, but privately felt confident in the young man's ability. "Take the target if you can, but your main objective is to kill as many members of Weiss as you can."

Gloom grinned broadly. "Yes sir!"

* * *

"We're professional assassins."

Aya's voice was clear and even, his violet eyed gaze steady and determined.

Yohji, not for the first time, was impressed by his lover's nerve.

They had found Kaoru and Kenji in the dojo – bound, but otherwise unharmed. Kaoru hadn't even seemed very frightened, for all that her son had been wailing like a banshee and was even now still trembling and sniffling pitifully.

Kenshin had left no doubt that he expected a quick and honest answer when, with what was certainly the precursor to Aya's own death glare, he had quietly and firmly asked them point-blank what was going on.

And Aya, bless the balsy bastard, had answered.

Kenshin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Rather than upset, frightened, or even surprised, it seemed like he was only accepting of the dark news.

"You cannot stay here," he said at length.

"We aren't leaving," Aya stated firmly.

The other redhead's eyes flew open, their nearly-identical violet depths blazing with a quiet fury.

"Your presence endangers this family."

"You're the one they're after."

The reaction was obvious. Kenshin was not nearly as skilled as Aya when it came to closing off all facial expression.

"Ayan, you're being too blunt," Omi chided.

He only grunted.

"What do you…" Kaoru hesitated, her arms tightening around the young child in her lap. "Why are they after Kenshin?"

"We aren't sure yet," Omi answered her gently.

"But we _do_ intend to stop them," Ken added, trying to reassure her. He flashed her his best grin. "Don't worry. We're gonna take care of it."

"By killing them?" Kenshin asked softly.

"Well, yeah. But it's okay – we only kill the bad guys."

"You think there's a difference?"

"No." Aya's voice was as cold as it got. "The only difference is in ideals – and the winner gets to decide which side is right. _Anyone_ who kills is a monster, and it doesn't matter what his reasons are."

Omi frowned. "Ayan…"

"We aren't any better – but we are going to do what's necessary."

"Way to spoil it, 'Ayan,'" Yohji sighed. He earned his lover's glare for it – which was just what he'd wanted. "You're so fatalistic sometimes."

"Kenshin doesn't need your protection!" Kaoru shot suddenly. The arms holding her child were trembling.

"These people have skills and weapons you can't imagine," again, it was Omi who gave the kindest possible answer.

Ken snorted. "_Especially_ if Schwarz is here. Seeing that bastard Schuldig _can't_ be a good sign."

Schwarz, and who knew how many other, unknown Esset operatives. Yohji scowled at the very thought.

"Shit," he said. "I need a nap just thinking about it."

"Do you think the others have…?" Omi glanced at their hosts, then decided to change whatever it was he was going to say. "Do you think they're _like_ Schwarz?"

"Fucking crazy," Yohji asked, "Or fucking scary?"

"Or both," Ken muttered.

"It doesn't matter. We'll assume they are."

Yohji glanced at Aya, and wondered what his lover was thinking. It was never a good thing when he became so dark and closed off. When the small man looked at their hosts, he was completely blank.

"We're going to take care of this," he said, "And then we'll be gone. Don't be afraid, and don't waste time worrying about moral justification for the blood on our hands."

"Who sent these people?" Kenshin asked. In a quiet, more gentle way, he had gone just as blank as Aya.

His descendant answered with all of the emotion of a machine.

"An organization called Esset. They seek to control and influence the world though the shadows, and by shadowy means. We are the ones who venture into the darkness to stop them."

"What a romantic way to put it," an unfamiliar voice drawled from the doorway.

* * *

tbc

I forgot to put in a preview for next chapter...but I guess you can see what's coming, right?

Kenshin notes:

- It's kind of a RuroKen in-joke that Kaoru sends people out to get very large, heavy packages of rice, miso, and salt "all at once."

- Myogin Yahiko is the orphaned son of a samurai family. When he met Kenshin and gang, he was ten years old and picking pockets on the street, giving the money to the person who his father had served. Kenshin and co. savde him from his masters and he then begans to live in the dojo. Kaoru trained him in her family's sword art's style, and by the series epilogue he's known as one of the top swordsmen in Japan. Eventually, Kenshin gives him the sakabato.

- Sagara Sanosuke was first introduced to the series as a "fighter for hire." He's tall, loud, and tough. He can take a punch, and shatter rock with his fist. I think he and Yohji would either be bestest friends, or would kill each other in minutes. At the end of the series, Sano leaves – fleeing the law after a little 'misunderstanding'. According to the OVA, it seems as if he doesn't see Kenshin again until just before Kenshin's death. He won't be making an appearance in this fic, because I don't think he'd be in the area. I think he's in China, actually.

- Kenshin's battle chi is awsomeness

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - Ahhh...yes, Hollister is a bad-word. And yes, there is brawling to ensue...I'm happy you like my Kenshin! (glompofjoy)


	20. Chapter 19: Doom

Forgive the stupid chapter. I'm still trying to get the hang of fight scenes. Well, at least stupid banter fits right in with Weiss cannon...

Chapter 19

Gloom

* * *

The man was of average height and medium build, his hair dyed a dark, almost purple shade of black and cut so that the fine strands fanned out around his pointed chin. Arrogance and anger filled his gray eyes.

"Weiss," he said with a smile that showed far too many teeth. "Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"

"You missing your buddies, ass hat?" Yohji asked casually, "Or did you forget the part where your pansy-assed friends decided we were too scary to play with?"

"One agent of Esset is more than enough to deal with any number of Krittiker's _children_," he answered with a chuckle. "Anyway, _you're_ the one I've come for, blondie."

"Aw, I'm flattered – really, I am – but you aren't really my type." Mindful of the floormats, Yohji stubbed out his cigarette on the back of his watch as he rose to his feet. "Anyway," he drawled, flashing a grin, "You should know that I'm taken."

"That doesn't really matter. I want you _bad_."

"Tempting as that sounds, my sweetie would kill me for trying."

"What a coincidence! I don't want you alive, either!"

"I really can be a pain when everyone wants you."

"Enough pointless banter," Aya stated, rising. While the rest of Weiss and Kenshin had been checking to make sure that Esset hadn't harmed Kenji or Kaoru, the quiet man had made a detour to the bedrooms to get the rest of their weapons.

At the time, Yohji had laughed and teased him by comparing him to a child wanting a comfort object, but now he found himself grateful for his lover's paranoia.

"I don't mind dancing with you either, Red," the assassin chuckled. "But I want your boyfriend first."

"Huh," Yohji said. "Are we really that obvious?"

Aya snorted and flung his scabbard away. Blade bared, he flew at the Esset agent.

Silver flashed and steel rang out. It took Yohji's mind several moments to realize that Kenshin had somehow managed to rise, draw his blade, get in front of Aya, and block his attack – all before any of them had even seen him move.

"There will be no killing," he stated, voice gone cold and hard, eyes flinty.

Aya was gone. There was only Abyssinian staring out of the frozen eyes that raised themselves to look at the small, scarred swordsman.

"Move," he ordered.

Yohji caught the movement when Kenshin braced his legs. Aya was applying pressure to the blades, trying to break past.

"This one will never allow this."

Laughter filled the air. The Esset operative, rather than draw a weapon, had removed his jacket and loosened his collar and cuff.s

Quickly indrawn breaths sounded from Kenshin and Aya as the man glanced at them, and the same noises were followed from Ken, Omi, and Kaoru as he turned his gaze past them.

When those eyes turned back to Yohji, he saw that they had bled to full gray.

The bastard chuckled as his eyes returned to normal.

"The legendary 'ice gaze' of Esset's Gloom," he stated, lifting his chin.

"Wow. That's really the best you can come up with?" Yohji purposefully kept his voice light and mocking. This guy was obviously on an ego trip – the best way to get that type to screw up was almost always direct challenge. "The Ice-Gaze-of-Doom?"

"Gloom!"

He snorted. "I miss Schwarz."

"Don't mock what you have no way of understanding!" he shot, already insulted by his opponent's failure to be properly impressed.

"What? They can't move? Big deal. Sounds like a weak version of that creepy-assed floaty thing Prodigy pimps. _Not_ scary."

"It's more than that!" he said furiously. He managed to compose himself a little when Yohji only laughed and, drawing back, he crossed his arms haughtily. "I want to kill you _personally_."

"How flattering."

"Once that's done," he said, "I'll release the target and take him back to the base. The rest of your friends won't be nearly so fortunate."

Yohji used his teeth to draw his wire out.

"Yeah?" he asked around it. "Do tell."

"They're 'frozen' in every sense of the word! In a few hours, they'll freeze to death!"

Yohji jerked, unable to hide his surprise, and it was the agent's turn to laugh.

"It's extremely unpleasant, as I'm sure you can guess. Esset usually wants me to end my victims' suffering early," he moved forward as he spoke, and Yohji gave an involuntary jerk as he reached out and slid his fingers around Aya's throat. "Choke them out, break their necks…sometimes they let me beat them to death." Glood chuckled, low and deep in his throat. "I confess, I enjoy that a _lot_."

"Is there any way to break your stupid 'gaze'?" Yohji asked. He had to hide that it bothered him to see him touch Aya, or else things would get a lot worse.

But it _did_ bother him – there was no ignoring the sudden, violent surge of protective fury. He would have to wait until later to search himself to see if it was just the fact the man was his teammate or if it was due to the fact they were sleeping together. For now he just needed to concentrate on _hiding_ it.

"No one's ever managed before," he chuckled. His eyes were on Aya in a way that, Yohji decided, would have bothered him no matter _what_ their relationship was.

"Sounds like a damned cheap trick to me," Yohji said, hoping that the taunts would be enough to distract the bastard.

"A cheap trick?"

It worked. His gaze shot sharply back to Yohji, face flushing red.

"Oh!" Yohji said, making his face a parody of innocence. "Have you heard that one before?"

Without warning, he cast his wire at the man, letting his face go hard as he pulled it taut.

The man made a surprised, strangled grunt…

And then he _pulled back_.

Yohji went flying, crashing through the wall.

"You see, unfortunately for you," Gloom said haughtily, "People like me obviously have more than one Talent."

"Oh really?" Yohji coughed, picking himself up slowly.

"Why, of course!" he chuckled. "Take your friend Mastermind, for instance."

"Friend?" he wheezed doubtfully. The damned bastard had knocked the breath out of him.

"And yet he always speaks so fondly of you!" Gloom circled the room, lightly running his hands over each of his prisoners. Kenji, trapped in his mother's frozen arms, began to wail. "Well, Schuldig, for instance, has increased speed and agility in addition to his Talent."

"Tell me more, teacher," Yohji said sarcastically. "I suppose _your_ extra ability is super-annoyance?"

"No – it's strength," he sounded distracted now. He had reached Aya again. "Esset's strongest – that's what they call me."

"I'm impressed," Yohji snorted, climbing back in through the hole in the wall.

"Hmm…" Gloom hummed. The backs of his fingers brushed Aya's cheek.

Yohji cast his wire, and it wrapped around the offending arm.

"Hey now – you promised to dance with me!"

The agent stared at him for a long moment. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Does it bother you when I touch him? Was I right? This one really _is_ your lover?"

Yohji forced a laugh. "I just don't like thinking you're already bored with _me_!" he said.

Gloom pulled on the wire, forcing Yohji to him. "I _hate_ liars," he smiled.

When Gloom slapped him across the face, it made his ears ring.

When he punched him in the gut, he thought he was going to die.

"I'm holding back, you know," the agent informed him as he slid to his knees. "It's payback for the other night – for daring to catch Esset's strongest by surprise."

"Fucking…bastard…"

"Besides," he sighed, it's no fun if it goes _too_ fast. But I haven't told you my _favorite_ thing, have I?" he kicked lazily at Yohji, and the blonde managed to avoid the worst of the blow by rolling a little early. "I planned to _show_ you, but…but now I think we should include loverboy as well."

* * *

"Tell me, Hollister – did Schuldig fail to appropriatly deliver my message, or are you simply a fool?"

He had seen his old friend angry only a few times in his life, but never like _this_. Face red, eyes wild, he looked almost…frightened.

"Bradley," he began, fighting to maintain his habitual smile, keep his voice calm, _and_ ignore the mocking eyes of the far-too-pleased Schuldig, all at once.

The precog's eyes flared dangerously at the use of his first name – a liberty which he rarely permitted _anyone_.

"I thought I had made myself clear," he seethed dangerously, "That Weiss was _not_ to be engaged!"

"Why do you keep interfering?" he demanded. "We should have had the target last night!"

"Weiss is a wild card, you incompetent fool! Do you have any idea how many visions they've ruined? If we don't tread carefully around them, we could find all of our plans _ruined_ before we even know it!"

"Or plans – or yours?" he asked, ignoring it as Schuldig pointedly _giggled_ at him.

For a moment, Crawford looked startled. Hollister took his opportunity.

"My people are more powerful and far better trained than your, Crawford," he said gently. He shook his head and smiled in a pleasant, friendly manner. "Just because all of Schwarz's altercations have ended in a draw is no reason for you to fear for this mission."

"You don't understand."

"Gloom alone will be enough – I haven't seen a Krittiker team yet with a single member able to withstand his Talent."

Crawford took a deep breath, his expression becoming completely cold.

"You've seen the last of your agent, Hollister," he said.

He took his own breath. When Crawford grew intense like that, it was difficult not to believe everything he said. Distancing himself from that had never been easy.

"All right, Crawford, we'll do this your way," he sighed at last. "If Gloom dies, I will hand full control of this mission over to you to run as you see fit…or, when – sorry, _if_ – if Gloom returns unharmed, then you stop interfering and allow me free, unquestioned reign.

"Fuck no!" Schuldig said immediately.

"Mastermind!" Crawford snapped in warning. He gazed at Hollister in silence for a long moment, suddenly cold and thoughtful. At last he inclined his head. "Making bets with me, Hollister?" he asked softly.

"Hue and Shadow have both informed me that being in the past has wreaked havoc with their Sight," he answered quietly. "Judging by your behavior, the same seems to be true for you. You have no unfair advantage."

"All right," Crawford's lips twitched. "All right. In honor of our friendship, I accept your wager. Shall we give him until sunrise, then?"

* * *

"He's already becoming cold," Gloom mused softly, trailing his fingers against Aya's lips, across his cheek, into his hair.

Yohji spat blood, pulling himself slowly to his feet.

"Get your hands off him, you sick bastard!"

"By rapidly releasing, then re-exerting my control, I can give them the illusion – the _hope_ – of getting away." Gloom said, as if to himself. "It's so much fun to watch them struggle…to run…and then bending them over and fucking them…hard…while all the warmth flees their bodies…it speeds up the freezing somehow, you see, if there's someone warm nearby."

"Get the _fuck_ away - !"

He batted away the incoming wire as if it were nothing. "What do you think your lover would do?" he asked. "Would he try to escape, save his own skin? Or would he stay for you? Which one of you would you prefer I take first?"

"You haven't finished playing with _me_ yet, bastard!"

"You strike me as the kind of man who _likes _to watch…and he really is…quite pretty…" his fingers slid slowly away from Aya and he stepped back a few steps. "Shall we take bets on which way he'll run?"

He released his hold just as Yohji cast his wire once again.

"Krittiker agents never _do_ learn," Gloom tsked, looking to Yohji as he caught the line. "That trick isn't going to work!"

"Yeah, but it got you to look away, didn't it?" he grinned.

Too late he began to step toward Aya.

Silver flashed. The blade cut deep.

* * *

tbc

I'm wondering if anyone out there could oblige me with some help with Side B, as translations have become impossible to find. What I really need are good character descriptions, information on any really important character-related events -- stuff like that. I would be forever grateful.

Next chapter: "Sending me to bed like a naughty child?"

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

CaT70 - Can you imagine the chaos? Yohji and Sano drunk and prowling the streets...it makes one shiver with terror! As to your question - don't you remember the rules of Weiss cannon? Only new characters who have just recently been introduced to the series die. (This doesn't include team Kenshin, as they have their own series and are thus immune to the laws of Weiss...)

glinwulf - It's not much of a fight...but maybe it was a little entertaining? (hopeful)

snabel - Schwarz has proven themselves to be far more dynamic and complicated than I ever imagined before attempting to write them. I'm happy you're enjoying them.

Thanks everyone!


	21. Chapter 20: Vitality

Chapter 20

Vitality

* * *

"That's my favorite thing about you, I think."

Aya looked up, surprised at the sudden voice, and Yohji smiled. He always smiled when he managed to get any kind of response out of his normally blank-faced lover, and freely admitted the extreme joy it gave him.

Dressed, not in the Krittiker-supplied period costumes bit in the pants and midriff-bearing top he favored for missions, the blonde was leaning against the doorframe of the dojo with his arms crossed. The light of the setting sun lit him from behind, making his golden hair a halo around his face, and hiding the dark bruising on his face in shadow.

"What is?" Aya asked quietly. "The fact that I know how to clean blood off of floor mats?"

Yohji's smile became a grin.

"Sorry. I forgot to say the first part out loud."

Aya gave him a flat, annoyed look. "You're an idiot sometimes, Yohji," he said, "But not _that_ much of an idiot."

The grin widened. Only Yohji, with his beautiful vibrancy, could grin like that after the day they'd just had.

"I meant that one of my favorite things about you is the fact that you don't hesitate."

Aya raised an eyebrow in question.

Yohji sauntered the rest of the way into the dojo, sitting down cross-legged beside Aya.

"I was thinking about that Esset bastard," he explained softly. "How you killed him…I don't think Omi or Ken…or hell, even _me_ would have been able to attack the _very moment_ we were freed. You must have been straining…fighting…the entire time. Then, that split-second and you're ready to strike. One slash and he's dead. I dunno…" he reached out and casually brushed a knuckle against Aya's cheek. "I guess I'm impressed."

Aya looked away with a frown.

"Sorry," Yohji dropped his hand. "Too soon? I guess…after the shit that fucktard said…"

"I don't care about that," Aya said dismissively.

"Really? Sure bothered the hell out of me."

"You really think that it was the first time someone who thought he was stronger threatened me that way?" he snorted.

"You're saying…you're _used_ to that kind of thing?"

Aya grabbed up the rag he'd been using and began scrubbing at the floor mats again. His movements were almost violent.

"Aya…" Yohji's voice was hushed. "No one's ever…?"

"No," he snapped quickly. "I've killed everyone who's tried."

"Well, you really don't act like anyone's managed to force you before, but…" Yohji's voice still sounded relieved. "Despite how gorgeous you are, I never even thought about someone trying…shit. Now I'm gonna think about this all night."

"Were you more worried for me than you were for yourself?"

"Well…yeah. I guess I was."

Aya sighed.

"Not that I was getting all overprotective or anything!"

"Kudoh…shut up." Aya sat back on his heels and forced himself to look at his lover. The man was watching him with a small frown on his face – a frown which only deepened when Aya reached out to touch said face.

The small redhead ignored the expression.

"Who did your stitches?"

"Kenshin. His hand's a hell of a lot steadier than Omi's, I'll tell you that," the frown was replaced by a playful smile as he leaned into Aya's touch. "Come on, I look cute when I get to play all tough, don't I?"

Aya gave a small, reluctant laugh.

"You know you're breaking orders by wearing that."

Yohji's hand covered Aya's, holding it in place as he rubbed his face against it like a contented cat.

"It was Omi's idea – as long as we stay on the Kamiya property, that is. We should be dressed comfortably in case of attack. He's…probably _still_ trying to explain everything to Kenshin and Kaoru."

"Are either of them meeting anyone's eyes yet?"

"Nope!" Yohji chuckled, turning his head to press a kiss into Aya's palm. "Barely talking, too. You might have been the one to strike the fatal blow, but clearly we're _all_ to blame for breaking the golden rule."

Aya sighed and tried to retrieve his hand, but Yohji refused to release him.

"It kind of feels like we're holding them hostage or something," the blonde shrugged. "But it's okay. Their lives will go back to normal once we leave, as long as we keep everyone safe."

Aya nodded, reluctantly admitting that Yohji was right.

The blonde rose, using his hold on Aya's hand to pull him to his feet.

"Let's take a walk," he suggested. "Some fresh air will make you feel better – I promise."

"I doubt that, but I'll go anyway."

Yohji grinned broadly at him, seemingly thrilled beyond compare when Aya mildly accepted his arm around his shoulders.

"You want to change into some normal clothes?"

"Not right now," he shifted closer to his lover's side, pulling his arm more securely around himself. Despite all of his fighting it and all of his better judgment, Yohji's presence in his life _had_ begun to become a source of comfort no matter what the circumstances. Had he once really wanted to keep it purely physical? When Yohji was so wonderful at pulling him out of his habitual loop of self-torture?

"But you'll change later, right?"

"What does it matter?"

Yohji grinned broadly. "Those bitch boots you wear on missions…"

"Oh."

"I'm just saying…"

"You'd better not."

"Yum."

Despite himself, Aya laughed. Yohji pulled him closer, clearly pleased with himself. He looked startled, and a little hurt, when Aya began to pull away, and the smaller man sighed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him along as he changed direction.

"If we're going to walk, we might as well use the opportunity to patrol," he stated.

With exaggerated movements, Yohji 'accidentally' stumbled against him, groping indiscriminately as he 'struggled' to regain his balance. The grin he gave Aya was all the warning he needed to stop the automatic complaint from rising to his lips.

"It _is_ kind of weird, isn't it?" Yohji asked after several moments of silence.

"The fact that I want to make sure we're working while we walk?"

"No."

"Are you going to continue the habit of voicing only the second half of your thoughts? Because it's going to get annoying fast."

"Everything annoys you, baby."

Aya sighed and the blonde laughed, bumping their hips together playfully.

"I was thinking that _we're_ kind of weird. Together."

"You're the weird one, Yohji."

"Maybe it _is_ just me…but I figure I gotta find _some_ way to blame you too."

The idea had caught Yohji's attention. Aya realized that the blonde was _wanting_ to talk about it – which meant he'd probably been thinking about it for a while.

He bumped Yohji's hip back, giving him permission to continue.

"I'm sure you've noticed – I can't keep my hands off you."

"You're a pervert. Such behavior is to be expected."

"No, I mean…it's not like I walk around with a habitual boner all the time."

"You don't?"

He ignored the question. "If you're around, then I want to be touching you. Like you're a drug or something, and I'm addicted…" he sighed and tilted his head back, eyes scanning the skies for the night's first stars. "And most of the time I'm not even thinking about sex. At least, not at first. Fuck…I probably shouldn't tell you this."

"It's the draw," Aya said softly.

Yohji looked at him in surprise. "Hm?"

He shrugged, already uncomfortable with the conversation. "Remember when you said that we were 'lucky' the sex had been good? It's the same thing…whatever it is…that makes you want to touch me, or makes me want to have you near when I feel myself getting lost…"

"So…what? Charisma? Attraction? You're not going to blame something stupid like fate."

"No, of course not. I don't believe in it."

They were silent for several moments, walking slowly. This time Yohji didn't protest when Aya quietly pulled away.

The truth that he couldn't voice was that Aya _understood_ the source of their passion, their familiarity, and the unexplained draw, attraction, or addiction which caused it all.

He and Yohji were simply a good match. They were the correct 'type' for each other. Yohji possessed the light and life, the vibrancy, the energy, the laughter and the _heart_ that Aya lacked. Aya had no idea what a person like the magnetic blonde could possibly get from him in return, but he was sure that it had to be something or else the playboy would have long since grown tired of their arrangement.

Yohji just happened to be exactly what Aya needed, and somehow, even though he couldn't understand it, Aya fulfilled whatever it was _Yohji_ needed.

Aya couldn't voice that, though. Out loud, it would sound like something it definitely was _not_. If he told Yohji what he thought, the blonde would think he loved him.

"I think it's good for me," Aya stated at last. He crossed his arms, partly to replace the warmth of his lover, and partly to keep from reaching for the man. "I suppose…I suppose I should thank you."

"You're gonna piss me off if you talk about this like it's some damn business contract."

"That's not what I mean." Aya quickened his pace to pass Yohji. He was afraid, suddenly, of how much he wanted to reach for him. Thinking about it was making him aware – for the first time, _really_ aware – of how often lately he found himself wanting Yohji. He didn't simply want him for the sharp, muscled planes, the heat, the powerful motions of his body, although at first that _had_ been what drew them together. What he most longed for were these long, peaceful silences, the gentle kisses at his forehead when the blonde thought he was asleep, the blunt, honest conversation, and the unexplainable comfort of his strong, steady arms.

Those arms wrapped around him now from behind. Yohji molded himself to Aya's back, pressing close, in something that was half embrace, half sexual position.

"It really drives me crazy when you fight the urge to be a sweetheart, sweetheart," the blonde muttered, hooking his chin over his shoulder and turning his head just right to press his lips to his neck. "I can't decide if it's adorable or if it's hot. Can something be cute and sexy at the same time?"

Aya closed his eyes. "I'm not sweet _or_ cute," he said, having to fight to sound gruff. "And the fact anyone but a lunatic would find me desirable is simply…"

Yohji groaned playfully. "Don't stop! I _love_ your blind self-deprecation!"

"Kudoh…" he warned.

The blonde fell silent for a moment, then he tightened his arms.\\

"It's okay to like me, Aya," he said softly. "And it's okay if you _don't_ spend every second hating yourself. It's okay if you _don't_ immediately doubt or argue with me when I tell you you're beautiful. It's okay for you to accept the way I see you…even let it heal you a little…even enjoy it…"

"Kudoh…"

"You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my entire life and you can't even accept a damned compliment." Yohji didn't sound angry, only protective. Sad. "I know you've been hurt, baby, and I know that you've come to see yourself as some kind of monster – but you're a _victim_, Aya."

"Stop it," he ordered softly.

"Aya…"

"Don't be so nice to me. I don't like it."

"Aya…" he tightened his hold on him even further, resting his forehead against his shoulder. "Is it really such a sin…if I'm falling in love with you?"

* * *

Aya had been still and silent for several moments now. Yohji, expecting anger, or even violence, wasn't sure what that silence meant.

He pressed his lips to Aya's neck and felt his pulse, his heartbeat pounding as wildly and as quickly as a frightened animal's.

He slid his hand up and under the loose collar of his shirt, resting his palm against the bare skin of his chest, directly over his heart.

He hadn't meant to say the words that had just come out of his mouth. He hadn't been aware of the feelings that had been driving him to distraction until he'd voiced them. He'd known he felt _something_, but hadn't tried to analyze it.

But he was. He _was_ falling in love with Aya.

This wasn't the love he felt in the heat of passion, when his mind had managed to transform the face of his lover into Asuka. He had _never_ seen Asuka while buried inside Aya – the man's gender, as well as his drastically different looks and personality, being more than enough to prevent the illusion. Each time he slept with Aya, it had _only_ been Aya, and not Asuka, in his arms.

Without illusions of the woman he had loved to bias him, he had come to know each exquisite plane of his lover's body – the taste of his skin, the strength of him limbs, the scent of his hair. He hadn't been able to sabotage himself by comparing Aya and Asuka because there simply _was_ no compare. There was Askua, and there was Aya – two people, two lovers, and no possibility of merging them in his mind.

And Aya was…amazing. Yohji was in awe of his stubborn strength – even when the man used that strength to torture himself – every bit as much as he was awed by his surprising tenderness. When Aya's defenses fell away he was…impossibly soft, endearingly vulnerable, amazingly trusting and honest and passionate.

Aya was…_dear_ to him. Important…_so_ important.

Yohji cursed the time that had been wasted before they became lovers because that was time – days, weeks, months – in which he had looked at Aya and not even come close to actually seeing him.

"Falling?" Aya whispered at last.

"Hard and fast," Yohji confessed.

The small man in his arms sighed.

"So?" Yohji forced himself to ask at last. He wondered if Aya would run if he released him, or attack. Aya had made it clear many times that he did _not_ want Yohji to care about him.

"Okay," the redhead said at last.

Yohji lifted his head. "Okay?" he repeated. "You…you're not gonna get mad, pitch a fit, attempt to eviscerate me?"

"Well, it's already done now, isn't it?" the small man demanded crossly.

"Yeah, but you're hardly the type to give up just because it's too late."

"Do you _want_ me to get mad?"

"Not at all." Yohji began to nuzzle his neck again. "In fact," he said, sliding his hands down Aya's body. "I want you to _let_ me love you…" his hands grasped Aya's hips and pulled him back even more tightly against him, turning his head to nip at his earlobe. "Let me love you," he whispered.

Aya shivered.

"Out here?"

"It's dark," he pointed out, already working to untie the belt sash around his lover's slim waist. "And everyone's busy explaining confusing shit. We're alone…and I want to show you my love…"

Aya gave a quiet gasp as Yohji finally managed to get one hand under his clothes.

"Or we could go inside, I guess," the blonde teased, beginning to draw his hand away.

Aya's hand clamped down on his arm and he shook his head. "No…this is fine…" he managed with difficulty.

"Ah, we've never done this before, have we? Outside?" and Aya liked it when Yohji surprised him with something new. "How the hell do I get you out of these clothes?"

"Nnh…figure it out, damn it!"

"Oro…perhaps this one should return later?"

Yohji jumped, turning quickly. Kenshin stood just a few feet away, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed, and Yohji, frustrated, wondered why the hell the man hadn't just turned around and walked the other way – he was sure he and Aya would never have noticed him had he not said anything.

Reluctantly, grudgingly, Yohji pulled his hands out of Kenshin's descendant's clothing.

* * *

"Well," Crawford sounded far too pleased with himself as he lay down his hand of cards. "I do believe I've won, old friend."

Hollister glared for a long moment before rising and storming out of the room. Nagi watched him go before taking the seat he had vacated and turning over the cards the blonde man had thrown down.

"His hand was better."

Schuldig, busy keeping Farfarello entertained with their own special version of the game 'hangman', burst into sudden laughter.

"So _cute_, Nagikins!" he cheered.

Crawford chuckled and took the cards, shuffling them slowly.

"Schuldig, I think it's time you put Farfarello to bed," he said, voice full of amusement. "He's going to have a big day tomorrow."

"You heard _Vater_, Farfie," the telepath said, as if coaxing a small child. "Santa won't come unless you're in bed."

* * *

"_Man_!" Yohji said with a heavy sigh. "What a way to harsh a boner!"

Aya glared and snatched away his carton of cigarettes when he took them out to light one. "Go inside," he ordered.

"Sending me to bed like a naughty child?"

"Kudoh!"

The blonde set his jaw stubbornly, but then something seemed to change his mind. With a sigh, he nodded and held out his hand.

"My cigs?"

He gave them to him, and found himself wishing his lover had put up more of a fight about being interrupted because now there was nothing to keep him from having to turn to meet Kenshin's dark, disapproving gaze.

It didn't matter that he barely knew the man – it might as well have been Aya's _sister_ who had caught him in the act of murder.

The way the man was looking at him now – that sad, regretful, almost tender look – told him that Omi had already taken the liberty of informing him of their familial ties.

Aya raised his chin and glared, silently daring him to pretend that any of that mattered. Kenshin's eyes grew sadder, but he did not look away.

"This one truly did not intend to intrude on a private moment."

"It _was_ private." Aya stated, wondering if the man was going to have a problem with that relationship in addition to the killing. Suddenly he wished he hadn't made Yohji leave.

"This one merely wished to speak with you…and was fearful that if he waited until tomorrow…"

"Cut the 'this one' bullshit," he snapped.

Kenshin fell silent, simply looking at him with those soft, sad eyes. "What do you fight for?" he asked at last.

"Didn't Omi already tell you everything?"

"So much anger…"

"I've earned the right to my anger!"

Kenshin finally broke eye contact, lowering his head, and suddenly Aya found himself staring at the faded cross-shaped scar on the man's cheek and remembering the strange, reverse blade sword he'd used trying to stop Aya from taking life.

And suddenly he almost felt like apologizing for snapping at him.

"We wanted to change our world with our swords," Kenshin said softly. "But you don't really believe you're ridding the world of evil, do you?"

"No."

"Perhaps that is better," he sighed. "Perhaps our foolish ideals are what made us the most dangerous. Perhaps there would have been less pain had we been capable of looking at our deeds honestly. You seem to know already what you have sacrificed by bloodying your hands."

"Yes. I know."

He looked at him again, his smile sad. "You are very different from this one…yet in some ways nearly the same as this one once was. You feel nothing when you kill, correct?"

Aya could only bring himself to nod once, briskly. He lamented the loss of his innocence and regretted the face that, by committing murder, he had lost the right to ever again see his sister's smile, even if she ever woke. He knew in a detached, academic sort of way that what he was doing was monstrous and wrong and it was _that_ knowledge that tortured him.

"It is because you have yet to have killed an innocent. You can't feel regret when you believe that the victim somehow deserves his fate. You do not feel either above or below them, but simply equal to – and thus a rightful messenger of death."

"Perhaps," Aya acknowledged grudgingly.

Kenshin gave a thoughtful nod.

"This one does not have the right to try to stop you, much as he would like to," he said at last. "This one…I…I cannot prevent you from making the same mistakes I have."

"So. That wasn't always a reverse blade," he said, nodding toward the sword at his ancestor's hip. "Was it?"

"I was a hitokiri during the war," he nodded. "An assassin much like you and your friends."

"What made you stop?"

He looked away and was silent for several long moments. "When we live our lives entrenched in blood and darkness, we begin to grow blind to the world around us," he answered at last. "Because of this, one precious to me fell to my blade."

"You…"

"The futures of people like us are limited. They become corrupt, they die, or…a few, very fortunate ones…find a way to find peace. I never thought the last would be my fate…I certainly have done nothing in my life to earn the joy which I have found in this place." Kenshin's gaze returned to him and he smiled gently. "If there is one thing, though…I would like to warn you…"

"Fine."

"If you have the misfortune of continuing in this occupation, then there is always the likelihood that one day you, too, will find yourself responsible for the lost life of one who you cherish above all else."

"And if that happens?" he asked, ignoring the cold shiver that suddenly ran down his bacl.

Kenshin met his eyes unflinchingly.

"The only atonement…the only justice…the only possible way to repay the innocent life you have taken – as well as the non-innocent who will haunt you forever after that dreadful day…the only thing to do will be to live."

* * *

tbc

Kenshin was married once before Kaoru. His first wife is the reason he doesn't kill anymore. It's a very sad and very beautiful story, but a little too complicated to go into detail with here. I'm willing to try, though, if anyone thinks it's absolutly necessary.

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

Caitlebug - well, consider it your punishment for being gone so long! (teasing) I'm glad you got so excited - I hope the chapter was satisfacotry.

CaT70 - Yes, there are always exceptions. But the rule holds true so often that it's funny. (grins)

glinwulf - lol, thanks. It's a theory a friend and I were working on...


	22. Chapter 21: Questioning

Chapter 21

Questioning

* * *

"Great," Yohji said, the moment Aya entered the room. His tone of voice made it amply clear that 'great' was anything _but_ what he felt. "So I guess you're not even in the mood anymore, are you?"

Aya slid the door closed behind himself, raised his tired eyes to look briefly at his lover, then looked away.

Yohji sat up from his sexy slouch, expression going from disappointment to concern.

"Aya? You alright?"

"Fine," he grunted, busy getting undressed for bed.

"Liar. What's wrong? Gramps get angry about catching us?"

"No."

"You guys fight about the whole assassin thing?"

"No."

"Aya…"

He sighed and reluctantly looked at him. "We didn't fight," he said. "He…was nice to me."

"Oh. Bastard."

Aya snorted and looked away, continuing to undress.

"If he was nice, then why are you upset?" Yohji asked.

He ignored him, even as he heard Yohji sigh – even as the blonde rose and padded across the room to him.

"Aya…"

"I'm not upset."

"Well you're certainly not the purring sex kitten I was playing with outside."

"I'm tired. It's been a long day."

He stiffened as he felt arms wrap around him.

"Aya…I thought you were going to let me help you, weren't you?" Yohji released him, instead beginning to gently massage his shoulders. Aya closed his eyes, allowing his lover to take care of him, and finally felt himself begin to relax.

He had fought with agents of Esset and killed one of their operatives. He and his team had been threatened, had been forced to compromise their cover, and had come very close to dying. He had had his lover declare love, been caught in a compromising position with said lover, and had a very strange heart-to-heart with an ancestor.

"I really am tired," he said. He tilted his head back to allow Yohji better access when he felt the blonde's lips on his neck. "I'm not really upset about anything."

"So then I can pick up where we left off?" Yohji asked softly. "You won't suddenly get angry?"

"Tell me what you told me this evening."

"Huh? You sure you want to hear it?"

"I think so."

Yohji gently turned him to face him. His fingers slowly combed through Aya's hair, brushing it away from his face. "Why?" he asked.

"I need to hear it."

Yohji cupped his face in his hands, bending to kiss him gently. "I'm falling for you, Aya."

The smaller man closed his eyes. "Thank you."

"So," Yohji asked, his tone light and somewhat serious. "Does this mean we _are_ picking up where we left off?"

"I don't want to think about anything tonight."

"Well, okay," Yohji said with a small, boyish grin. "But you have to agree to do something for me first."

Aya drew back warily. "What?" he asked.

Yohji's grin widened.

"You have to put on the bitch boots."

* * *

"Oro?" Kenshin said, clearly concerned, as the four men of Weiss came to sit for breakfast. "You all look so tired!" the small man's thoughtful, even angry silence of yesterday seemed to be gone, replaced by his usual brightness.

Ken scowled and exchanged a tired glance with Omi. Together, the two youngest Weiss turned angry glares on their other teammates.

Yohji froze, caught in the act of yawning.

"What?" he asked blearily.

Aya merely blinked and slumped against his lover's side, staring at them with a flat, sleepy look.

"Was there something wrong with your beds?" Kenshin asked.

"No," Ken answered shortly. "They were fine."

"How surprising then that you are so tired!" Kenshin exclaimed. "This one would have thought that, after the excitement of yesterday's events, you four would have had no trouble at all falling asleep! Weren't you exhausted?"

"Some of us more than others, obviously," Omi muttered.

"Oro?"

"Because _somebody_…" Ken began heatedly.

"_Two_ somebodies," Omi corrected.

"Two somebodies," the athlete amended, "Were up the whole night _fucking_!"

"Fucking _loudly_!" Omi snarled.

"Hey now," Yohji offered a vague smile. "Don't complain just because I'm good at keeping my lover satisfied."

"And that's enough of that kind of talk in front of my child!" Kaoru said angrily, bringing out the breakfast with one hand as she tried to balance Kenji on her hip with the other. When she almost had a spill, she deposited the child securely into his father's lap, ignoring it when the toddler suddenly began to wail.

"Kaoru…"

"I have one more trip to make – start feeding him, and don't let those boys talk that way!"

"Sorry," Omi offered sheepishly, once she was gone again.

"Of course, you have every right to be annoyed with your friends; however, when there are young ones around, there are certain other responsibilities to be considered."

"Right," Omi blushed.

"I still don't think they needed to be so _loud_!" Ken hissed. It only seemed to fuel his anger that he couldn't get a satisfying response out of either of the men he was miffed at.

Yohji shrugged and actually put an arm around Aya, and Aya, surprisingly mild when he was still half asleep, snuggled closer.

"So this is them? They don't look so tough."

Ken turned his head. A young man with dark, wild hair and a stubborn jaw had entered the room. He wore a wooden sword strapped to his back and walked as if he knew how to use it.

"Yahiko. Should this one even _ask_ how you learned of this situation so quickly?" Kenshin asked, shaking his head wryly.

"So it's true then?" the boy scowled. "Someone's really after you?"

"So it would seem," he sighed, apparently completely unconcerned as he tried to convince Kenji to eat instead of cry. The child seemed utterly noncompliant.

"All right!" the boy nodded. "Then you can send these sissies packing now – it may be just me and you, but as far as I'm concerned, that's enough. Team Kenshin has never lost a battle yet!"

"Team…Kenshin?"

The boy ignored Ken's sniggered comment and placed his fists on his hips. "What's the plan?" he asked Kenshin. "I'm ready!"

"The plan?" the small, scarred man drew back a little with a surprised, wry chuckle as his son abruptly spat globs of half-chewed breakfast on the both of them. "The plan appears to involve more laundry!"

"I'm serious, Kenshin!" the boy insisted, almost petulantly. Ken could nearly imagine him stamping his foot to emphasize his statement. "I'm not a kid anymore – I can really help this time!"

"You were always a great help, Yahiko, no matter your age," Kenshin's smile slipped into seriousness now, even as he reached to attempt to towel off his son's face. "Were this anything like the conflicts once so common around here, this one would not hesitate a moment in enlisting your assistance. However…this fight is not our own."

"Thay're after _you_. This is _our_ fight if they're after _you_!"

"It is true that they seem to want this one…" he acknowledged, "However, their actions are not personal. For whatever reasons they are choosing their attack, their quarrel lies solely with Aya-dono and his friends," he nodded at the men of Weiss as if giving his permission, however reluctant, to fight their battle.

"You don't want any part of this," Omi assured him. Even tired as he was, he managed to summon up the gentle, harmless tone he always utilized so skillfully. "These people are…different."

"Yeah – I heard they had 'powers' and I don't care! So what if that guy froze everyone? We've seen that trick before!"

"That 'trick,'" Kenshin stated softly, "Was nothing whatsoever like the technique Jin-e used, Yahiko."

He faltered for a moment, mouth working silently, until he came up with a new argument.

"But Kenshin - !" he began again.

"These men are killers," the small man stated, attempting again to feed the noncompliant Kenji. "We will have no part in their affairs. If they feel the only way to fight is to take life, then this one will not help them in their battle, and neither will this one's friends."

Scowling, the young man crossed his arms and sat, the argument momentarily settled. The stubborn expression on his face warned that he wouldn't leave it alone forever.

Ken decided he didn't care, and turned his attention to complaining at his teammates again – only to stop. Yohji was rising and helping Aya do the same.

"Where do you think you're going?" the athlete demanded.

"Back to bed!" somehow Yohji managed to yawn and leer at the same time. "See you kiddies later."

"Why the hell do _you_ get to go back to bed? We have work to do!"

"We can't all guard Kenshin at the same time, after all. You guys can have the day shift, and Aya and I will take the night shift."

"And you just randomly decided all of this on your own?"

"We decided last night. We were up all night working."

"Like hell you were!"

"Save us some grub, okay?" he asked Kenshin, ignoring Ken as he hugged the sleepy Aya close. "Since right now shut-eye outweighs food, we're gonna skip the rest of breakfast."

"Bastards…" Omi grumbled.

* * *

Quiet…and privacy…and warmth…

"They're going to make us suffer for this when we get home, aren't they?"

"Totally worth it."

Aya found himself smiling as the body behind him shifted, an arm sliding around him, warm breath tickling his neck.

"Morning, lover," Yohji mumbled fondly.

"Afternoon, I think," he corrected. "How long were we asleep?"

"Four glorious hours. And now…" Yohji's hand began to slide down Aya's front.

The small swordsman stopped him. "Don't."

"Sun's not going down for a few more hours – so we've got time before our shift," Yohji rationalized, attempting to free his hand from Aya's firm grip. "And these clothes are so easy for me to get you out of. I understand how to get these off when you aren't in that costume. I'll even forgive you for failing to leave your boots on…"

"Don't you ever get tired?"

"We just had a nap. Might even have time for another one later if you just give up and let me have my way with you."

Aya shoved his hand away and sat up, looking down at his lover. Yohji smiled languidly up at him, fully aware of how very sexy he could look when his golden curls were spread around him on the pillow and his eyes were half-lidded and warm and liquid with obvious lust. When Yohji looked at him that way, Aya almost felt beautiful.

New to the familiar look, however, was the fiery spark of blossoming love – an addition which had been there for several days _before_ he had made his startling confession.

Yohji had only said 'falling,' Aya reminded himself. He hadn't said he was _in love_, just…falling.

And Aya was still stunned.

"Come here," Yohji said, reaching for him.

Aya still had no idea how to respond to Yohji's admission. He wanted to be angry – he had warned him not to love him! He wanted to punish him for the mistake, to end their arrangement, to get Yohji reassigned to a team far away from Weiss just as soon as they got home.

But he couldn't do any of that, and not just because he needed Yohji, or because he enjoyed his body.

Aya couldn't do it…because it had been a long time since anyone had actually loved him and, now that it was too late and Yohji was already 'falling,' he couldn't – didn't have the _strength_ to – let his own self-hatred call the shots as it had for so long. More than the misery he knew he deserved…

More than _anything_…

He wanted Yohji to stop _falling_ in love with him and just, simply, _love_ him.

And that stunning realization, its conflict with all the rules he'd been living his life by since he had begun his search for vengeance, and the strange, unexpected, and terribly pleasant way Yohji's words made him _feel_ crippled his ability to make decisions.

He knew he couldn't accept Yohji's love.

But he couldn't bring himself to kill it, either.

"Why do you want me?" he asked dully, allowing the blonde man to pull him on top of him, straddling him, staring down helplessly into those too-green eyes.

"What's not to want?" Yohji asked, and though there was certainly a note of teasing in his voice, Aya knew with a slightly-queasy certainty that Yohji was at least partly _serious_. He shivered, and Yohji chuckled softly. "I hate to break it to you, but you're damned addictive…" he said. "And we _both_ know I've never been good at fighting addiction."

His tone was so light and flippant, but his eyes were not. Aya shivered once more, and wrapped his arms around himself.

"I wish you'd at least _try_," he complained gruffly.

"No," Yohji smiled, "You don't."

Again he shivered, as if chilled by his lover's warm words. Yohji, gently, began to rub his arms.

"I wish you could learn to see yourself the way I have," he said softly, coaxing him to lean down and kiss him.

Aya allowed it, and felt as lost as ever.

* * *

tbc

Kenshin notes:

I think I've mentioned enough of Yahiko's backstory in previous notes, but I will bring up here the element of 'powers' in the Kenshin universe – they don't exist. That is, every time a fighter displays some amazing 'supernatural' power (there's one first-season character, Jin'e, who could "freeze" people with his gaze) there is always an excuse behind it – some kind of trick or special training, and nothing inhuman whatsoever. This is why the Esset agents are so much more of a risk; there's no 'trick' to get around.

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

met - thanks - glad you liked!

tkmaxwell777 - Even though I think they're a little juvenille, I still find myself drawn to crossover ideas. I'm glad you ended up liking this one. And Schuldig...well he's just too much fun for me ever to hate.

CaT70 - "Bishi you would like to --"? Me too... I hope everyone's still following. I worry about the non-Kenshin fans...

glinwulf - It's so depressing, but I love it so much...

Thanks everyone!


	23. Chapter 22: Esset

Chapter 22

Esset

* * *

"We _are_ clear, are we not, Hollister?" he asked, and his voice was steady, cold, and calmly threatening.

He reminded him of the man he had once been, back when they were schoolboys working on impressing their masters with their first practical exam. Now, like then, Bradley Crawford's cold tone and humorless face were accompanied by a bright, triumphant fire that burned brightly behind his eyes.

It was a rare look for the man – one that made him look capable, beautiful, and awe-inspiring. It was a look that could entice the unwary into declaring everlasting loyalty.

But it was also a look, Aaron Hollister knew, which meant that the man had allowed an idea to overtake him to the point of obsession.

He had once fallen prey to that look. He, and several of their school peers, had once believed that look meant that Bradley Crawford was a true leader.

It had taken the 'necessary sacrifice' of nearly half of their group before they had come to realize the truth. Crawford wasn't a leader – he was a fanatic.

Hollister frowned.

He had fought the order that had assigned his old friend control of a team, but been unable to convince everyone on the Assignments Committee of the danger the man posed. Were they in the Present, this would be the last bit of evidence he needed to get Schwarz disbanded.

But they were not in the Present. Hollister's team was already down one member, with no way of getting reinforcements, and Schwarz was a merciless, bloodthirsty pack of wolves. For this moment, there was nothing he could do but cooperate with what was very clearly a plot against their masters.

Cooperate, at least, until he saw an opportunity to strike.

"Your orders are quite clear, Bradley," he answered, still frowning.

"You better double-check," Schuldig sing-songed, circling Hollister like a happy cat. "Make absolutely sure he _does_ understand. He still looks a little confused to me."

Since Schwarz had mutinied, their pretty telepath had become positively _insufferable_. Unnatural and disgusting, not to mention _frightening_ as it was to allow such a high level Talent to learn to use his potentially-devastating abilities in a way that could one day be used against those who had invested such time and money into his training, Hollister hadn't been concerned until now.

Schuldig despised him, but Crawford had been controlling him up until now. _Now_…distracted by his plans, Crawford's reins had grown lax and it had begun to become clear just how dangerous Schuldig could actually be.

The little whore clearly needed to be reminded of who he was, and who he belonged to. No Talent could ever be his own man; he was _Esset's_ creature, and this wild, independent arrogance was _unacceptable._

Schuldig danced to Crawford's side, massaging his shoulders. "Make him repeat the plans, _Vater_," he urged in an irritatingly pouty voice. "We can't be taking any risks."

Hollister's frown became a scowl when he noticed the thoughtful expression on his sometimes-friend's face.

"Bradley," he began. "Surely you aren't going to take the advice of such a creature?"

"Normally, no…but that 'creature' happens to be adept at reading individuals even when they're too tightly shielded to be Read."

"Bradley!"

"Repeat the plan, Hollister."

"Fine! But one thing first!"

Crawford waited, cold and patient as a snake, a dangerously pleasant smile on his lips.

"Why Weiss?" Hollister demanded. "They won't be able to return to the present anyway! Why is it so damned important to you that they stay alive?"

"I need them," he answered, "And that is all you need to know."

"But - !"

"When they stop being useful," Crawford interrupted, "Then, and _only_ then, will my protection cease. Until that day arrives, you _will_ stick to non-lethal force when dealing with them."

"Weiss is _mine_," Schuldig added with a smirk. "No touchie."

Across the room, Farfarello gave a wild laugh.

"Repeat the plan," Crawford ordered again.

Hollister pursed his lips than, reluctantly, complied.

"You want to avoid fighting Weiss at the dojo," he stated tightly. "You want to force them into seeking _us_ out for the final confrontation…" he stopped, the words tasting like gall on his lips.

"Go on," Schuldig urged, insufferably cheeky.

It was almost a full hour before Crawford, claiming satisfaction, at last dismissed him. During that time, Schuldig made him repeat the plan a grand total of seven times – once in a French accent.

Hollister stormed into the rooms his team shared, his mood foul.

"Any progress?" he demanded without preamble.

"Some…sir," it was Shadow, one of his two Seer/healers, who answered. "We've charted the visions we're certain Oracle has…"

"Not that!" he rounded furiously on his second in command, stopping her mid-sentence. "Didn't I tell you to find a _plan_? Power-based theories are worthless to me!"

"With all due respect," another operative interrupted, "I think the ladies have a valid point."

"Have you suddenly developed a skill in Sight, Ink?" he demanded.

"Well…no."

"Then what authority do you think you have to - ?"

"With all due respect," the tall man interrupted gravely, "Don't Shadow and Hue have the authority in this? You don't have Sight, either. Hearing out their theory will cost nothing more than a few moment's time, whereas missing out on something potentially important could cost much more."

He glared at the man, with little effect. Hollister was little in practice with attempting physical intimidation, and Ink was more than confident in his own body's abilities.

"Don't you think," the tall man asked slowly, "That taking your anger at Crawford out on the only plan we've been able to find is…useless?"

It was only hurting his authority, trying to stare down someone who wasn't intimidated.

Hollister broke his gaze first, turning his eyes back to the two remaining members of their team. Shadow was still unruffled and coolly professional. Her loyalty to him, he'd found, was strong enough to withstand any of his weaknesses. Beside her, Hue, his other See/Healer Talent, sat staring at the floor in one of her usual broken silences.

"All right," he sighed, carefully replacing the signs of his anger with his usual charming smile. Sometimes a grin was ever so much more frightening than a scowl. "All right. I'll listen."

Shadow smiled at him.

Shadow, real name Symon Maple, was a tiny, pale creature with dark hair and eyes and an eerily doll-like quality about her. She was quiet and professional when circumstances called for it, but took on a girlish glee in the suffering of others. Hollister had always found her particular breed of cruelty endearing.

"As you know," she began without further prompting, "Both Hue and I have found a significant decrease in both the frequency and accuracy of our visions since coming here, culminating in a complete halt in our abilities last week."

"Yes, I already know that." Shadow and Hue both had Past Sight. It was they who had helped him choose which time period to take the mission to. Actually _being_ in the past, existing within the medium in which they usually worked, had begun to adversely affect their Talents. "There have been no signs of Crawford meeting a similar consequence though," he pointed out, not for the first time. "Carwford's visions have nothing to do with the past."

"Except now that everything he could possibly See _is_ the past." Shadow stated.

He stared at her, silent, processing the revelation.

"The visions Crawford has had since coming here have never been as accurate as those that came before," she continued. "We think it isn't his specialty, but his power level which has set him apart from us…" she reached out to Hue, beside her, and ran her fingers down the other Talent's back. She smiled at Hollister, her eyes bright.

Hue flinched away from his touch, blinking up at Hollister as if seeing him for the first time. The other Talent, whose real name, according to her file, was Hannah Buckram, had come to him already broken and on the verge of being taken care of – _permanently_ – by their employers. Her stint on his team was the last chance to be useful that she was going to get.

It had seemed hopeless to get anything out of her – until Shadow had volunteered to take charge of her. Hollister neither knew nor cared what she did to her charge; what mattered to him was that she got results.

"It's only a matter of time before Oracle's visions stop all together, we think," Shadow continued. "In fact, it may have already begun. Tell him, Hue," a note of hardness entered her voice when she addressed the other woman – a note of threat that cut like a knife.

The broken Talent blinked slowly for a moment before finally answering in her vague, half asleep, raspy voice.

"Crawford has not suffered one of his headaches in three days."

Hollister thought about it. He wondered if his old friend had been faking his most recent visions – if his surety that Weiss would kill Gloom had been a mere gamble.

He wondered what it would mean if, visionless, the traitor would be unable to know if Hollister took back control of the mission.

Slowly, he began to smile.

* * *

"What's that look for?"

"N…nothing!"

Schuldig stopped, staring at his youngest teammate. Nagi had looked away quickly, color rising in his cheeks – how could Schuldig _possibly_ walk by without further questioning the boy's behavior.

"I like that look," the telepath decided, placing his hands on his hips. "It's like I've caught you doing something _naughty_."

"Schuldig…" he sighed.

"Well? Did I? Did I?"

"No! Of course not!"

Schuldig didn't need his powers to tell him that Nagi was telling the truth. The teen was _never_ naughty.

"You're no fun. You _do_ know that, right?"

"It's just…" Nagi hesitated, staring down at his hands and fidgeting uncomfortably. "You were…singing."

"I was singing?"

"Show tunes," he nodded.

Schuldig blinked, then began to laugh. "No I wasn't!"

"Yes you were…you were singing that song you like from _Les Mis_…the one about revolution."

Schuldig laughed again.

Things had been quiet in the few days that had passed since Schwarz had hijacked the mission. Hollister's team had barely been _seen_ since the power had shifted out of their favor.

Today Crawford had taken Farf out for the first of their planned 'chaotic excursions.' He was taking the madman out to areas of the city where bloody and gruesome murders were bound to cause a stir – ensuring that Himura and Weiss come after them.

It was the perfect time for Schuldig to begin his _own_ part of the game.

"Are you really so happy?" Nagi asked.

"What's not to be happy about?" Schuldig shrugged. It wasn't as if he'd ever claimed to be complicated. "Braddy-boy's busy picking on someone else so I'm the favorite again, that bastard Hollister is miserable, and I have permission – actual _permission_ – to torment the kitties to my heart's content."

"Is that where you're going now? To bully Weiss?"

"You bet your ass. Wanna come?"

"No thank you."

Schuldig shrugged again, a little put-off by his youngest teammate's cold tone. "Suit yourself," he said with a halfhearted wave, and began heading for the door once more.

Halfway there, Nagi called out to him.

"Schuldig?"

"Change your mind?"

The boy shook his head, hesitating. "Just…be careful, okay?" he asked. "When things seem to be going so perfectly…it usually means they aren't."

"So gloomy, kiddo. We need to take you somewhere fun once we get home. Ever been to Disney?"

"Schuldig!"

Laughing, he left.

Nagi trying to give advice – now _that_ was cute. As if anything else in the world could _possibly_ exist when he had Weiss in his clutches.

Four minds so mercilessly tormented with only the most _delicious_ varieties of pain…four pasts haunted with the bloodiest of memories and the most vengeful of ghosts…was it any wonder that that the men of Weiss had become Schuldig's favorite toys?

The fact that they were all gorgeous was simply icing on the cake. Schuldig would still enjoy tormenting them even if they weren't spectacular specimens of male beauty. Schuldig took sadistic pleasure in their pain – and on the days when it wasn't _their_ pain, but his own he longed for, it was all too easy to pick one of those delightful minds, settle back, and enjoy the torment – all without having to risk waking his own ghosts.

One of his chief complaints about the current mission, in fact, had been the fact that there hadn't been much opportunity for gamers. When he _was_ permitted to link to the minds of the Weiss, it was in a completely business sense, and not much fun at all.

And now…

_Now_…

Schuldig was nearly skipping with joy as he rounded the final corner and the dojo came into view.

Who to target first? he wondered with barely-restrained glee. The two oldest kitties were always a great time – so much pain and self-loathing to roll around in. One could be pushed into the darkest depths of depression while the other could be persuaded into the greatest heights of destruction, the likes of which rivaled even some of Schuldig's own habits.

But the younger Weiss – oh, the youngest two still had so much innocence left in them! To push either of them those final inches that they had left to go to be completely swallowed by darkness…one still had faith in the goodness of the individual and the other actually still had faith in humanity as a whole!

Schuldig was so caught up in his wicked plans that when he strode boldly through the dojo's front gates – having already decided that making an entrance would be the most fun course of action – his mind at first refused to make sense of what it was he saw.

When his mind, sluggishly crawling out of his fantasies, at last began trying to tell him what was going on, he found himself frozen by an overwhelming surge of pure, murderous fury.

* * *

tbc

Surprise update! I'm sorry that it's been so long, and I'm even more sorry that I can't promise I know when I'll be back for good. There's a lot of things going on right now - getting prepared to test for grad school, trying to begin learning Japanese again, oh, and beginning the process of trying to get something original published. But I'll be back when I can! No review response since it's been so long, and I haven't edited this chapter (I never do, though, so what's out of the ordinary?) Please don't write to me with notifications of typos. This update is dedicated to liljezebel, as thanks for her sweet letter on lj.


	24. Chapter 23: Blood

Chapter 23:

Blood

* * *

Ink was a tall, bulky monster of a man who had been two years ahead of Schuldig in Rozencruz. As a student, he had carefully cultivated a 'cool' image for himself by becoming quiet, observant, soft-spoken…

And deadly.

He claimed that his Talent was 'weapons mastery,' and, indeed, that was how it was listed on all of the Esset documents concerning him that Schuldig had ever seen.

It was a load of shit, of course. Weapons mastery? Steaming bullshit.

Ink was no weapons master, just a man who knew to take an opportunity when he saw one. In reality he was just another telepath – albiet a weak one. Perhaps, as an abnormally observant child, he'd simply realized (as Schuldig had in his own younger days failed to) the fate that awaited most telepaths who fell into Esset's hands. Their masters simply saw them as too great a risk to be taught an assassin's skills. Perhaps Ink had realized that, with his weak power levels, he would have no place but the lowest of the low.

'Weapons master.' The very idea was insulting. Ink was a talented student who had set his mind to learning the basics of every weapon he came across and then, using his telepathy – his _real_ Talent – to subtlely manipulate the minds of opponents and teachers, turning 'basic skills' into 'amazing prowess.'

Now, years later, further practice with his toys and further testing of his Talent and Ink had managed to turn his special skill into something that ranged from 'impressive' to something that was now 'piss-your-pants-a-fucking-mazing,' depending on the strength of the mind of his opponent. Even Schuldig himself had to consciously work at dispelling his illusions.

When Schuldig walked up to the dojo courtyard, it was to find that Ink had not been letting his skills fall out of practice.

Schuldig only saw three people in the courtyard, and one had already fallen – crumpled into a pale, unmoving heap and soaking in a steadily growing pool of dark blood. Schuldig didn't know if that one was alive, dead, or dying, but the only hope of life was the white-knuckled hand that still grasped the hilt of a sword.

Ink, too, had chosen a sword for this confrontation, and crimson streaked the silver blade. He stood, cool and collected, exerting his 'image' over the entire courtyard, patiently awaiting the next attack, squared off against the remaining man.

The last was breathing heavily, but though blood covered his gloved hands, streaked his golden hair, and even dotted his wildly furious face, he looked to be unharmed.

That was all Schuldig needed. Possessive, jealous wrath flooding him, he lashed into Ink's mind as he drew his gun and continued into the yard.

Balanese spared a moment, as Ink reared back in pain, to look surprised – the thought of _Schuldig_ coming to his rescue a shock that would entertain the telepath for days after all this was over – before his strong face closed off and he, accepting the unexpected help, used Ink's distraction as the opportunity he needed to launch his wire.

Ink's shields were pathetic – weak even by the standards of the average non-Talent. Too much of his energy was focused on his 'image' and not enough on his mental defenses. Schuldig ripped past the flimsy barrier as Ink gave a choked scream, strangling around the wire encircling his neck.

"Where are the rest of you?" Schuldig demanded.

Balanese scowled, pulled even more tightly on the wire, and decided to answer.

"Bombay and Siberian are on duty protecting Kenshin," his voice was hard with restrained emotion. His eyes kept darting to his fallen teammate. "Nobody is here except the two of us. They went to visit another sword arts school…figured Kenshin would be safe enough there."

But this attack wasn't about Kenshin, Ink's mind informed him, freely showing him Hollister's plans for taking power back from Crawford. Since Weiss was clearly important to the man, then _they_, and not Himura, would become the target. Killing a few would not only weaken the team, making them easier to defeat, but would also upset Crawford.

The real mission would wait until Schwarz was put in its place – so with Weiss split in half, distracted protecting the original target, there had been no better time to ambush the remaining team members while they were least expecting it.

"Not that I'm not grateful," Balanese grunted, glancing once more at the still form of his fallen teammate, "But why the hell are you helping me?"

Schuldig watched the blonde's expression grow harder, and he lifted an eyebrow as the man gave another violent tug on his wire. He decided to answer honestly. "You're _my_ toys," he admitted. "And I _don't_ share."

"Ah…" Balanese's lips twitched, but he was too distracted to be truly amused. Schuldig caught his eyes dart once more to Abyssinian.

"I've got him," the telepath offered. "You go check on the other kitty."

Balanese glanced at him warily. "Why?"

"Interoffice politics are a bitch," Schuldig grinned, and fired his gun. The bullet took Ink in the knee. "And anyway I told you – I don't share."

The blonde didn't hesitate further. He cut his wire as Ink fell, and hurried to the injured Abyssinian's side.

"Traitorous…bastard!" Ink wheezed at him, coughing.

"I made it clear that Weiss was mine," from the corner of his eye, he could see Balanese, with a face like granite, pulling back Abyssinian's jacket to check his wounds. "I could care less if you wanna get back at Brad – but you don't get to touch the kitties."

Schuldig fired again and hit Ink's shoulder. Balanese was carefully wrapping Abyssinian's coat back around him, binding the slim man up tightly in it.

"You know where to find a doctor?" Schuldig asked him.

"Yeah," Balanese sounded shaken as he carefully lifted his teammate into his arms. More shaken than a hurt commrad warrented. Were the pretty boys of Weiss actually beginning to _care_ for each other?

"You better hurry," Schuldig warned. "He's one of my favorites. I won't be happy if he dies."

Balanese gave no indication that he heard. Teammate cluched tightly in his arms, he was already running toward the gate. His mind was hard and determined and dark with emotion.

"I'm going to have to make sure you all learn your lesson," Schuldig told the suffering Ink, closing up his link with Schwarz as tightly as possible. He didn't want Crawford interfering.

He began to move forward, and a hand grabbed his arm. The cold metal of a gun pressed hard into the back of his neck.

"Drop your gun and release his mind."

Schuldig began to turn his head, and the gun pressed even harder, digging into the tender skin and pulling at his hair.

"I don't give warnings twice, Schuldig."

"What timing you have, Shadow," he growled, giving a grin that was more a bearing of teeth. In a parody of obediance, he began to lower his weapon, then rounded violently on the other Esset operativfe. He ripped his mind from Ink's and lashed into hers.

He grunted in surprised pain and stumbled to his knees as his mind slammed uselessly into one of the strongest shields he'd ever encountered in his life.

Shadow smiled slowly, aiming her gun at his forehead.

"I was hoping you'd put up a fight," she said softly.

* * *

"We are fortunate that you had the foresight to send for me when you did," the small, dark haired woman said, sitting back on her heels and looking up at Kenshin. "There aren't a lot of people trained to handle this kind of damage who don't have their services already obligated to the army."

The red haired man nodded solemnly.

"This one supposed injury would be inevitable, considering the current…situation," he answered softly. "Yet he is most disturbed to see that your services were required so soon. I hope your trip went well, Megumi-dono, and thank you for your fast response to my letter."

She waved the nicities off with an almost impatient gesture, staring with a thoughtful frown at her still-unconscious patient.

"Your letter failed to mention the resemblance, though," Megumi said at last. She almost sounded accusing.

Kenshin smiled. "Is it really so noticable?"

"Don't pretend you don't see it. He could be Kenji's older brother."

The smile fell away as if it had never existed. "This one would rather you not compare them so closely," he said. "This one does not want his son's life to in any way mirror that of this boy's."

Megumi stared at him for a long, silent moment. His old friend's eyes hadn't lost a single drop of the worldly cunning they had held since the day they met.

"You like him," she said at last. "You feel as protective of him as if he _were_ Kenji."

"No," he closed his eyes. "As if he were myself."

He had never possessed the anger he read radiating from the small body of his descendant, but he hadn't been far from it. Were it not for his idealism and the anchor it presented for him in his early years…and were it not for Tomoe, his first life, and her peaceful smiles when that idealism had begun to fade…he imagined that were it not for these things, there would have been no difference between himself and Aya at all. Kenshin had once certainly been as cold as Aya was. Looking at Aya felt like looking at a vision of himself from long ago. Some days it was nearly impossible to resist the urge to grab him, shake him, demand 'don't you know what you're doing?'

"Again," he said at last, "My gratitude for coming so quickly. Had you arrived a day…even an _hour_ later…"

"I promised, didn't I? To come if you needed me?"

"Yes," he smiled.

Their quiet comraderie was broken by a commotion in the hall. Only a few hours earlier Yohji Kudoh, streaked with blood that was not his own and pale with a terror he could not hide, had taken his teammate to the doctor – where, fortunatly, the newly-arrived Megumi had been visiting with the old man and his apprentice. Convincing the blonde to leave them, Megumi had said, had been very difficult. He had refused any medical attention himself, and only agreed to calm down when Kenshin, Kaoru, Yahiko, and his remaining teammates – summoned, by that time, by the old doctor's apprentice – had arrived and threatened to tie him up if he didn't give the doctors some peace. It had actually been Yahiko, with a familiar, flat, 'are-you-an-idiot' expression who had finally convinced him, asking if he'd really rather risk Aya's health by insisting on staying with the man.

Yohji had left then, but now it seemed he had decided he had been away long enough.

When the blonde man burst into the room, out of breath and still clearly mad with worry, Kenshin noted that he seemed to have gone back to the dojo for a little while. His hair, bound back away from his face in a low tail, was freshly washed, and he was wearing more of his strange future clkothes – these fresh and clean of any sign of blood.

He stopped short just in the doorway, his eyes darting from his teammate, to Megumi, to Kenshin.

"Is he - ?" he began.

"He'll live," Megumi said, and she rose gracefully to her feet. Her tone ans expression were cool. "There's still the risk of infection, but for now he's stable. You can move him to the dojo tomorrow."

"Thank…!" he stopped himself in the act of moving toward his teammate – an action that clearly cost him dearly. "Can I?" he asked.

Megumi motioned to the unconscious Aya. "Just be careful. Don't try to wake or move him."

He didn't wait for further permission. Kenshin watched thedistraught blonde kneel at the wounded man's side. Kenshin only managed to tear his eyes away when Megumi gently touched his arm.

"I'm going to leave them," she said. "Make sure he doesn't get too…passionate…in his relief."

Kenshin nodded, smiled, thanked her once more, and, once she was gone, moved to sit near the two younger men.

Yohji, he noted, looked as if he desperatly wanted to touch his teammate, but was just was desperatly terrified to do so. His hands hovered over the smaller man for a moment, then balled into fists. He put them on his knees.

"Megumi-dono said he is very strong," Kenshin offered. "She expects a full recovery. It was blood loss which imposed the greatest risk to him, rather than the location of the injury."

Yohji ignored him. Kenshin wondered at the power of the other man's worry – he had assumed that their physical relationship was a matter of conveniance and personal need, as arose often among soldiers. Was he now to assume that there was more to that connection?

"I shoulda' been the one to take that hit," Yohji said as Kenshin searched for a way to ask such an embarassing question. His eyes were locked on Aya; he seemed completely unaware of Kenshin's presence. "You think I'm gonna let something like that happen again? First Asuka, then _you? _…why the hell didn't you get out of the way, you fucking idiot?"

"Again?" Kenshin asked, not comprehending.

"Those bastards are going to _suffer_," he said. His hand shook as he reached out to brush hair from Aya's face. He looked at Kenshin so suddenly and so fiercely, that for a moment the older man forgot to breathe. "And you - ! You think people like that deserve to live? It won't happen again…" his voice softened and he turned his eyes back to his lover. "I'll fucking die before I let them take another one."

"Yohji-dono, you are not making much sense…"

He didn't answer. His eyes were far away, his expression grim. Kenshin realized with no little amount of horror that these 'boys' already had the kind of memories that he'd been hoping to somehow help to spare them from.

There were horrors beyond the taking of life…but these children had already faced them, hadn't they? That expression on Yohji's face did not come from someone who killed for mere money, or even for ideals. Whatever memory it was that was playing itself behind those green eyes, it was the horror that had _caused_ him to become a murderer.

"Not children with your eyes closed, then," he realized out loud. "But adults trapped in young forms." He could identify with that, too.

Kenshin rose, and as he did it was with the feeling of releasing his first ideas about his guests and accepting new ones. The four assassins were no different than any of his contemperaries, save that they were younger. They already understood the possible consequences of their actions.

"Don't tell Megumi-dono, but this one will give you some privacy," he offered. He smiled, and felt sad.

* * *

He had woken slowly and painfully, pulled from the brink of death against his will into a place worse than hell, where he was cruelly met by the smiled and gloating of Aaron Hollister – who was all too pleased to have him in his claws at last, even if it did mean Weiss was still alive.

"Did you really believe Crawford's lies?" Hollister had asked. He forced his mind on the telepath as well as his body, until the flame haired man no longer exsisted to himself. "He can't set you free. He can't help you change what you are."

He was no longer human, but pure feeling. The lust was not his, but he embodied he it. The pain _was_ his – he _was_ pain. He wasn't sure who the anger belonged to.

"People don't change," Hollister had grunted, cruelty in his face as, for the first time in years, he ripped Schuldig's humanity from him, tore away his individuality, his personness, until he was nothing but a creature, a tool.

Hollister left him bloodied, bruised, and trapped in the dark, downward spiriling mess of his own mind.

"Schwarz doesn't even think to be concerned about you," Hollister had said – his last, parting shot. "The trouble with being as unreliable as you are is that no one's surprised when you disapear."

And he'd laughed, and left.

And Schuldig, trapped in his darkness and his pain and his solitude had almost – _almost_ – let himself break.

Schwarz _wouldn't_ be concerned by his absence – at least not for several days. There would be no one pile and wild-eyed with wrath to come after him, like he had seen with Weiss.

Schuldig knew this, and he despaired.

For about two minutes.

Darkness and pain and humilation were not new things to the telepath. He had grown up with such things as most children grow up with fairy tales, and he would not allow himself to give up because of some bastard like Hollister. No matter how painful like became, no matter how heavily the evil thoughts of the world weighed down on him, Schuldig was not yet quite ready to give up on life. There was simply something within him that wanted to live – and that wanted to life free.

Schuldig indulged in his despair until it got boring – and then he set his mind to something more entertaining: finding a way to get away from that sick fuck Hollister.

He just hoped he wouldn't have to gnaw his own arms off to get out of the chains.

* * *

tbc


	25. Chapter 24: Awake

Chapter 24

Awake

* * *

The small man was, very clearly, miserable – as was his lover.

The other men in their party were clearly ignoring this.

Kenshin flinched as the argument in the next room escalated suddenly into shouted insults, accusations, and curses – all of which managed to be so loud and disruptive that they woke the sleeping Kenji.

The argument broke off with a guilty sort of abruptness as the child's wails filled the house.

"It's your turn to get him," Kaoru muttered sleepily, rolling over onto her other side.

Kenshin, already sleep-deprived and suffering from rapidly-fraying nerves, was foolish enough to attempt to argue.

"This one has attended to our son the last three times they woke him," he pointed out.

"They're _your_ family," she argued, and it was clear that she had no intention of getting up whatsoever.

Kenshin stifled a sigh and got out of bed, padding to their son's room to take the young boy up in his arms. The child had lived a blessedly peaceful life so far, and was terrified by the anomaly of raised voices – particularly after the little incident with that 'Doom' character. Kenji would not stop crying if left alone but, rather, would continue his wails with increasingly greater distress until someone managed to convince him that he was safe.

Unfortunately, Kenji still preferred his warm and loving mother to his gentle and soft-spoken father, and though Kenshin could suffice as caretaker as needed, it was not without difficulty. The two-year-old seemed stubbornly content to fight his father's love. On days when dark memories pressed too painfully close, Kenshin found himself wondering if his son's innocent soul could sense the blood that dripped in the past of the man once called manslayer. Perhaps it was Kenshin's own dirty soul which was the cause for his son's aversion to him.

Kaoru tended to impatiently brush these concerns away, blaming the lack of connection on Kenshin's frequent absences during the first year of the child's life.

"A kid isn't going to understand that you were gone because you were helping people and searching for atonement," she always said, impatient with the subject. "Anyway, he's probably just scared of your scar. Pick him up – he'll get used to you eventually."

Kenshin found himself sending a tired glare toward the bedroom that housed the two responsible for his son's waking. He began to pace the hall, his screaming child held securely in his arms.

Yohji and Aya had been arguing almost constantly since the latter's injury and there was, simply, no escape. Everyone was in agreement that, as there was no way to know _who_ their enemies would attack next, the group should not be split again. No one was to leave the dojo grounds for any reason.

Omi and Ken should have taken all of the responsibility for helping to mediate the growing conflict between their teammates, but the younger men were stubbornly ignoring it. In fact, both actually seemed intent on pretending that everything was _fine_.

Yohji, too, was denying any conflict, and Aya…

Aya hadn't spoken in days, except to insult his lover.

The group was fracturing. Their enemies were clearly too dangerous for any of them to attempt taking on individually, yet the ties that bound them to one another seemed to be eroding away – at a time when their friendship would be most needed, it looked as if it was at its weakest.

Kenshin sighed, and hugged his son tightly.

* * *

"I think the kid's finally gone back to sleep," Yohji said into the silence that surrounded them. The words sounded as if they had been pulled, quite unwillingly, from his lips.

Aya shot his lover a flat glare that clearly conveyed his heartfelt wish that the man would just shut the hell up.

Yohji gave a heartfelt sigh that verged on the melodramatic, and scrubbed a hand back through his hair. "Look," he began, uncharacteristically awkward.

"Don't."

Yohji stared at him, not missing the clear threat that had been in the smaller man's voice.

Aya was the first to look away. "It's not fair if we wake him again. We've already frightened him three times this week," he said with all the coldness he would muster. He couldn't face the pained look in Yohji's green eyes.

"Why do we have to fight?" the blonde asked. He looked truly confused. "Why can't we just handle this like adults? Why won't you talk to me?"

Another flat look was the only answer Aya was willing to give. As far as he was concerned, _Yohji_ was the one being childish.

"Aya…" Yohji moved toward him, coming to his knees at his side. The vulnerable and confused expression on his face was infuriating. "What's going on?" he asked. "Why are you doing this? What have I done to piss you off this much?"

"For starters?" he growled. "You let Esset get away!"

"Esset was kicking my ass, sweetheart, and you know it," he smiled.

Aya looked away, shuddering at the hideous nickname. This was one of those utterly disturbing times when Yohji's little pet names for him sounded less like the wonderful barriers they were supposed to be and more like the actual expressions of affection that Aya had forbidden.

Yohji's voice was torturously gentle. "We were both about to kick it, baby. Much as I hate it, the truth is that if it hadn't been for Schuldig…"

"You didn't even ask about my sister!" he accused.

"When could I have done that – with you so busy trying to pour all your blood out on he ground?" he countered. "How're you gonna help her if you're dead? You were injured. I made the decision that would save your life."

"You made a stupid decision because you weren't thinking! I would have survived, but you were too worried to do your job!"

"Aya…" he blined. "Why is it such a sin for me to worry about you?"

"You don't do stupid things to protect Omi or Ken!"

"I'm not sleeping with Omi or Ken. I don't feel the same way about them that I do about you."

"So then you admit it? You admit you can't maintain your professionalism if your lover is in danger?"

"Forgive me if I have issues about watching the person I love die!"

Aya stopped, staring at him.

"_Falling_ in love," he corrected.

"What?"

"You said the person you love. You meant the person you were _falling_ for. Right?"

Yohji only stared at him, and all of Aya's earlier anger slowly began to become terror.

"Kudoh," he said slowly. "You meant _falling_, right?"

"I…" the blonde began.

He was prevented from having to answer when the door opened. Kenshin offered them his most harmless smile.

"As this one was already awake anyway, he thought he might check on the patient's dressings," he offered humbly.

"Yeah, sure," Yohji agreed, rising.

Aya glared at him. "Where are _you_ going?" he demanded.

"A walk."

He wouldn't look at Aya _or_ Kenshin. He was gone by the time Kenshin reached his descendant's side.

"Such a fierce scowl!" the older man observed with a smile, carefully helping Aya to sit up. "One so young and so full of wrath is often a dangerous adversary to have. This one almost pities Yohji-dono."

"He screwed up."

"Ah. You believe that caring for someone is a weakness?"

"When it makes you stupid."

"Ah," Kenshin said again, chuckling as he carefully unwrapped the bandages. "Then there is no one in your life who _you_ would have cause to be 'stupid' for?"

Aya's mind immediately, cruelly, flashed on a tinkling laugh and long, dark braids of hair. As he shoved away the painful memories, there may have been the ghostly image of green eyes and the scent of cigarette smoke following.

"You are healing quite quickly!" Kenshin exclaimed in approval. "Has your body always been so forgiving?"

He nodded once, sharply.

"This one is the same," Kenshin said, continuing in his work.

Aya felt a flash of guilt as his ancestor turned his head to yawn into his sleeve.

"I'm sorry that we woke you," he found himself saying.

Kenshin didn't answer for several long moments.

"Odd that the sounds of conflict are so much more disruptive than the sounds of lovemaking," he commented at last.

"I should apologize for that, too."

"It never bothered this one. None in this house, save your unfortunate teammates, even noticed."

"We…didn't come here to disrupt your lives. I…I would have preferred never to have you even know we were here."

"No, this one is happy to have been given the chance to meet you all, whatever the circumstance."

"You are?"

"Apologies if this one's behavior has indicated otherwise. This one is in truth quite fond of you – and your friends as well."

"You just don't approve of our work."

"This one is too well aware of where those paths lead."

They were silent for a long time. Oddly, it was a comfortable sort of silence, for which Aya could only feel grateful.

"This one…" Kenshin hesitated. "If this one may only give you one small bit of advice?"

Aya reluctantly nodded.

Kenshin kept his eyes fixed on his work.

"If you do not take care, you may find that one day blood has fully overtaken both your heart and your soul...but it isn't hopeless, I think. There seems to be someone willing to watch over them for you, if you will let him." Kenshin finished wrapping the bandage and rose. He met Aya's look of surprise with a large, genuine smile, and left without another word.

Aya stared at the place where the smaller man had been, unable to think, unable to move. He was shaking and his wound was beginning to ache. He suddenly felt empty, and frightened. He cast about for Yohji but, of course, the blonde had left.

Aya was alone.

* * *

Yohji Kudoh stared at the closed door to the room he and his lover shared and tried to convince himself to go in.

He'd taken a walk around the grounds and finished off the last of his modern-world cigarettes (he'd have to resort to the time-period-appropriate ones now, which really was no fun at all.) He'd taken as much time as he could with his wandering, tried his best to calm his reeling mind, and attempted to work everything out in a way which wouldn't drive him insane.

Yet he _still_ wasn't ready to talk to Aya.

Yohji was in love with Aya. With every breath in his body he loved that damn man. He had realized the extent of his feelings the moment the Esset agent's sword had slashed into the small man's body. As his blood had begun to spill out onto the ground, it had been _Yohji's_ heart that had wanted to stop.

For the first time he had been forced to consider what would mean to him if Aya were to die.

If Aya died…

Yohji pushed the nearly crippling thought away. He'd been forced to bury a lover one time too many already. He already _knew_ what that felt like, damn it!

But this…this was breaking the rules, wasn't it? Aya had been very clear about what he did and _did not _want from their arrangement, and Yohji had been…Yohji had been arrogant, hadn't he? Just because he hadn't been able to truly love anyone since Asuka…just because he's had countless emotional affairs…he had really honestly thought himself capable of resisting the endearingly gruff charms of the small, fierce Aya Fujimiya.

He saw now how stupid he had been. Being wanted, being _needed_ by that man…

Aya had been happy when Yohji had only been _falling_ for him, but now…not that they both knew he actually _loved_ him…Aya wouldn't be able to handle it.

Yohji stared at the door and knew that if he opened it he would probably lose Aya forever.

And so he couldn't bear to do it.

"Damn it…"

The door opened without any help on his part, and everything immediately flew out of Yohji's mind.

"You aren't supposed to be out of bed!" he blurted.

Aya was pale and shaking, leaning his weight entirely on the doorframe. He looked at Yohji with an odd mixture of horror and desperation, his purple eyes like bruises in his pale face, his skin nearly white.

He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. His white-knuckled death-grip on the fragile doorframe slipped as his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he stumbled forward.

Yohji caught him up easily in his arms as the small man slumped bonelessly. Aya was as unresisting as a rag doll as Yohji carried him back into the bedroom, and he woke a few moments after Yohji set him back into the bed.

"Damned idiot is what you are!" Yohji shot when he saw his eyelashes flutter. Frantically, the blonde checked to make sure that his lover hadn't reopened any wounds or caused some other form of damage. "What the _fuck_ did you think you were doing?"

Although Aya didn't answer, Yohji was still sure that he heard him.

The sword wound was a cruel imperfection against the smooth alabaster of Aya's skin. Red, angry, violent against all that smooth white. The stitches that held the wound closed were neatly done, but black and ugly compared with the perfection Yohji knew his lover's body to be.

But at least it hadn't reopened.

"Stupid…stubborn son of a bitch idiot!" Yohji, forgetting that they were currently angry at each other, brushed a relieved kiss against his skin, the stitches rude and harsh against his lips.

He lifted his head at the feel of a hand in his hair. The shaken, trapped look on Aya's face was still there, but there was something else as well.

"You're going to…_worry_…about me no matter what I do, aren't you?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. I am."

They stared at each other in silence for several long moments, each lost as to how to continue.

"Why the hell are we fighting?" Yohji asked at last.

"Because you're an idiot."

"So let me be an idiot," Yohji kept his voice light as he reached out and brushed hair out of Aya's face. "We're both still benefiting from this, aren't we? What's it really gonna hurt it I…worry?"

Aya only grunted.

He wouldn't speak even to offer protest when Yohji stretched himself out next to him in the bed, gathering him up carefully in his arms and hiding his face against his neck.

"Stubborn son of a bitch," he muttered against Aya's skin, his voice warm and fond. "Cruel little bastard."

"_Idiot_."

Yohji smiled against the gruffly indulgent tone to his lover's voice, and tightened his hold as much as he dared.

"If you say so, sweetheart."

"This doesn't mean _anything_."

"You want me to leave you alone?"

"…no."

Yohji laughed.

* * *

"Come away from the window!" Crawford sighed, irritated, and tried to soften his voice at the sight of the worried, slightly bewildered look on the boy's face. He had never seen Nagi look so young. "It's too dark to see anything out there, anyway," he added, a little more gently.

"It's been over a week."

His patience for the boy vanished.

"Since when are we supposed to be surprised when Schuldig vanishes?" he demanded, turning his attention back to the book he'd brought from the modern world. When Schuldig reappeared, he was going to make sure the man _suffered_. "I'm half tempted," he mumbled, more to himself than to the boy, "to just leave him here when the time comes to return home."

"You told him he could torment Weiss _only_ as long as he promised to check in once a day. He _promised_ to do it!"

"The man is a liar."

"He wouldn't risk Weiss."

Crawford didn't answer. The silence stretched for several moments, broken only by Farfarello's giggles. The madman had managed to find a dead rat and had been playing with it all day. Although it was disturbing, he was harder to control when Schuldig was out of the house. _Anything_ that kept his attention diverted was well worth it.

"Schuldig is a pain," Crawford said at last, dismissing the subject. "Worrying about him is exactly what he _wants_ you to do."

"You know I'm right," Nagi muttered sullenly.

* * *

tbc

I got some review responses out, but not all of them. Please don't be insulted if you didn't receive one; I feel so silly when all I can think of to say is "thanks."


	26. Chapter 25: Any Cost

Chapter 25

Any Cost

* * *

Three days passed, and Schuldig finally came back. Crawford tried to act unsurprised and utterly uncaring, and it infuriated Nagi.

Schuldig returned to them dirty and smelling and grinning like a madman, his eyes dark and secretive and his link to his team locked up tightly. There was mud and blood and worse staining his clothes and hair, and bruises marred his skin. His wrists, Nagi noted solemnly, were red and chaffed and swollen.

Hollister looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"Hiya kids," Schuldig greeted with false cheer. He sounded tired and hurt, and he limped as he crossed the room. He didn't look at Hollister, didn't acknowledge him even to antagonize. It was as if the blonde man had ceased to exist. "Is the bath ready?"

No one answered, but Nagi jumped up to see that it was done. Afterwards he stayed there, insistent that he not be moved. In the shape he was in, Schuldig would probably drown himself if left alone. He was prepared to argue his case when Schuldig, already stripping off his clothes, came breezing in, followed by a clearly-infuriated Crawford.

Whatever their leader had been prepared to say was cut off abruptly by Schuldig's nudity.

"Schuldig!" Nagi exclaimed.

The telepath looked at him over his shoulder, flashing his trademark wild grin. "If my manly beauty is too much for you, kid, you can go ahead and leave. Don't accuse _me_ of spoiling what's left of your innocence." Exhaustion and pain ruined his playful tone.

It wasn't 'manly beauty' that had caused Nagi's breath to catch.

The wounds were worse under his clothes, even the unmarred skin yellowed with bruising. His spine, shoulder blades, hipbones – _everything_ – stuck out too far. He'd been at least partially starved.

Schuldig gave a lusty moan – attempting, but failing, to hide a pained wince – as he lowered himself into the water.

"Nagi," Crawford's voice was stern, "Go get Schuldig some food."

He scrambled to do as told – gathering painkillers and other medical supplies as he did so – and returned to the quiet murmur of their voices.

" – and let you think I owed you something for the rest of my life?" Schuldig laughed. "_Nein_, _Vater_. The princess rescued _himself_ from the dragon!" and he laughed again.

"He could have killed you, Schuldig."

"Ah – but did you see his face when I walked in? Ah! Was there ever a more wonderful reward for perseverance?" he began to hum – a light, happy, and yet somehow sinister-sounding song.

Nagi knocked, then re-entered the room. He couldn't tear his eyes from the pathetic figure of his teammate.

"So rather than open the link so that I could come in and save you, you thought it would be better if you let yourself be tortured until you could find a way to escape?" Crawford asked slowly. When Schuldig, still humming, only nodded, he scowled darkly. "You fool!"

"And who are we to deny it in here!" Schuldig sang out enthusiastically. "Didn't you see his face, _Vater_?"

"His face?" Crawford growled. "All of that just to get to him for a _moment_?"

"_Nein_," Schuldig looked at Crawford, and for the first time since his return he seemed as serious, as hurt, as tired and troubled, as he _should_ have been. "The first time I escaped him, it was because you 'rescued' me. Now I've done it on my own. Now I am not a possession to change hands without consideration, but a creature in control of his own destiny!"

"As if anyone has ever managed to take your will from you," Crawford muttered dryly, clearly amused despite himself.

For a moment there was that familiar, comfortable feeling of the way Schwarz had been before Kontrolleur and Hollister had forced them to come to the past and everything had begun falling apart. Schuldig had always been just as satisfied with Crawford's amusement as with his anger. Crawford used to be good at remembering that.

"It will be open war now, unless I give you back to him," Crawford said at last, ending the moment brutally. His plans were still more important to him than his team.

"Give me back?" Schuldig paled.

"If I give you to him, then Schwarz's takeover of the mission is simply the result of a simple wager, rather than mutiny. Hollister didn't 'capture' you – he took you in for a very deserved punishment."

"Punishment for what?" Nagi couldn't help but to ask.

"I'm sure he's done _something_ to deserve it. He is Schuldig, after all."

Schuldig, pale, stared at his leader as if seeing him for the first time. His voice, when he spoke, came out a hollow rasp.

"All the trouble I went to to escape - !"

"Makes _you_, not Schwarz, the one who has misbehaved."

"They were going to go after Weiss! What would _that_ do to your fucking plans?"

"What does it do to them if we're marked as traitors before we even return to our own time?" Crawford countered coldly.

The telepath fell silent for a moment, glaring sullenly. His bright mask of normalcy was completely gone.

"I will kill myself," he said at last, speaking slowly and deliberately, "Before I will ever again allow myself to be placed into the hands of that sick fuck!"

"Do you think it would hurt me if you did?" Crawford demanded. "Do you think I would _miss_ the dagger in my side?"

"We need Schuldig!" Nagi blurted quickly. His statement earned stares from both of them and Nagi, having learned early in life the woes of drawing attention to himself, fought the urge to back down. "Unless your visions have changed?" he challenged.

Crawford's eyes were cold and hostile. Schuldig's were calculating. All of Schwarz had noticed the recent decline in their leader's powers.

"How long," Crawford asked with a dangerous quiet, "Do you really think we can afford to wait in this situation? Because of Schuldig's stupidity, we have no choice but to bow to Hollister or kill him and be marked as the traitors we are! Do you believe we will be permitted anywhere near the Elders if we murder another team?"

Farfarello, who had entered silently sometime during their conversation, was the first to speak.

"What if Esset thinks Weiss did it?"

_Thinks_ was clearly the key word in the Irishman's suggestion. Farfarello gave a hungry grin that was only matched in intensity by Schuldig's own. Nagi looked imploringly at their leader.

"No," Crawford stated. "Absolutely not."

"What?"

"But _Vater_!" Schuldig began to whine.

"If even one were to escape to take tales back to Esset - !"

"We won't let them!" Schuldig cajoled.

"They've already left to attack the kitties again," Farf added, almost as an afterthought.

Three pairs of eyes stared at the white haired man.

"_What_?" Schuldig demanded at last, rising out of the water.

"Sit down, Schuldig!" there was no room for argument in Crawford's voice.

"But - !"

"We can no longer protect the Weiss. Live or die, it will be by their own actions. And when, or if, Hollister returns, you will go directly back to their custody."

"Brad!"

"I am still the leader of Schwarz. It is still me, and me alone, who gives you any worth or authority. Hollister is right in this and it is time you were reminded of it. Without me who would be nothing more than some politician's toy right now."

"Fuck you."

"That is what you were trained for, is it not?"

Nagi had never seen Schuldig so furious as he looked when, nude, he got out of the tub and pushed past Farfarello to leave the room.

When Nagi went after him, he was already gone.

* * *

"There now. Doesn't that feel good?"

"Don't patronize me."

Yohji lifted his head, and his grin was breathtaking. It could have been the effect of the lighting that made his hair and eyes shine like some golden god, but it seemed as if the stunning beauty radiated from Yohji alone.

Aya scowled darkly.

"Don't be so moody just because I was right," the blonde laughed, settling down beside him on the porch. "A little fresh air and sunlight will make you feel better."

"Feel better!" he repeated. As if Yohji thought he was a five-year-old! "Are you even armed?"

"Of course, baby." Yohji proudly brandished his wrist, but only earned a grunt from his lover.

"And where's everyone else?" Aya demanded.

"They're all here. Out in the dojo watching the day's lessons."

There had been talk lately of splitting the team again, letting a few leave the grounds to get supplies, or just to relieve some cabin fever, but so far they had failed to reach a unanimous decision. It had been quiet lately but that, Aya and Kenshin both insisted, only meant they were in more danger than ever.

Yohji leaned forward to kiss him, and Aya glared all the more.

"You're enjoying this too much."

"Enjoying that you have no way to escape me now? You bet," he grinned.

Aya wanted to laugh, but refused. Letting Yohji know that he enjoyed the attention would be a Very Big mistake.

"Enjoying playing nursemaid," he accused.

"Well, when the patient is so sexy…"

"What would your bar friends think?"

Yohji grinned. "They'd think 'lucky Kudoh. He gets to play doctor with the pretty one!'" Leaning in, the blonde kissed him again. This kiss lasted for several moments, Aya hardly protesting, until at last Yohji pulled away with a groan.

"What's wrong?" Aya asked.

"You gotta get healed up soon, sweetheart," Yohji chuckled. "My body's going into withdrawal!"

"Pervert."

"Hell yeah," and he began to lean in again.

A bullet slammed into the wall above them, narrowly missing.

At first, all Aya saw was Schuldig, and it even took him a few moments before he saw that the telepath was disheveled and bruised and unsteady on his feet. The look in his eyes as he aimed his gun – to their right this time, not above them – was full of anger and hate.

He was not looking at either of them, but at first Aya didn't notice this. He'd had trouble believing Yohji's odd story about Schuldig's possessive protection of them.

But Yohji was rising, and his eyes were taking the same path as Schuldig's – looking at the group approaching from the right. They had silently scaled the wall to enter the yard without notice. It had been weakness, not ill intent, which had caused Schuldig's first shot to pass so near to Yohji and Aya.

Aya recognized the man who had ambushed him and Yohji, but none of the others. He began to rise, and Yohji stopped him with a sharp gesture.

"You think you're any good in that condition? Just stay the hell out of the way."

Aya was about to argue, but a shout cut him off. Omi, Ken, and Kenshin, as well as Kaoru, holding Kenji, and Yahiko, and all of their students came running from the dojo, alerted by the sound of the gun.

Without preamble, Omi raised his crossbow. The Esset agent he aimed at managed to avoid his first shot with ease. The group seemed more intent on Schuldig than on their original purpose for coming.

"Are you going to wait to see who falls first and then make you move?" Schuldig asked without taking his eyes from the intruders. "Or will you pay me back for Abyssinian's precious life?"

No one answered, but Yohji moved to the telepath's side.

"Eager as always for punishment, eh Schuldig?" the man in the leas asked.

"Merely wishing to return the favor," the telepath stated, his voice rough.

"How _did_ you manage to escape?"

"Pure and simple hatred," he smiled. "This bastard is mine, Weiss. All I ask of you is that you keep these others from jumping in to save their precious leader."

"You expect us to do what you say?" Ken demanded.

"This is a one-time deal," Yohji said. "Payback. Then things go back to normal."

"Yohji!" Ken's voice was a mixture of outrage and disbelief.

The blonde's lips were a hard, determined line. His jaw was set stubbornly, the muscles of his back tense. The idiot truly believed that Schuldig had saved Aya's life and stubbornly, stupidly, had decided to 'repay' his enemy.

Aya began to rise unsteadily to his feet.

"I only need one chance," Schuldig told Yohji. His voice sounded strange – as if he found something amusing about the situation. "I'm going to rip this bastard to shreds."

Yohji's lips twitched. "Inter-office politics?" he asked.

The telepath gave a surprised, barking laugh.

"At the very least, sweet Bali-cat."

If he was careful, and if he made sure to move very slowly, Aya thought he could make it back to the room he and Yohji shared without anyone noticing. His sword was there, and though he wasn't sure how well he would be able to use it with his injuries, he was bound and determined to try. He would not allow his team to fight while he sat on the sidelines.

"Yohji!" Ken said again.

They were all focused on the Esset teams, and wouldn't notice him slipping away. They wouldn't dare take their eyes off their enemies – not before someone made the first move.

"He's made up his mind, Ken," Omi's voice was determined as he raised his crossbow once more. "We have to support him, don't we?"

"Well…yeah…but…"

"Schuldig, does it matter which order we take them out in?" the youngest Weiss asked.

"Not at all."

Aya tried his first step, and was satisfied with the result. He attempted a second.

"Fine," Ken growled, readying his own weapons. "But don't think you can walk away after all this is over, Schuldig!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Siberian."

A hand closed on Aya's arm as he took his third step, making him jump. Kenshin smiled warmly at him.

"What are you doing on your feet?" he asked. "You shouldn't be moving on your own. Let this one help you."

"Give me your sword."

He blinked his large, deceptively innocent eyes at him. "Why would this one…?"

"I'm not sure I can make it inside."

"Then…what makes you think you can fight?"

Aya gave him his most icy glare. "My team – I cannot just stand here!" he hissed. He reached for the blade, and Kenshin took a step back.

"This sword will not kill."

With a snarl, Aya reached again. Kenshin caught him when he stumbled. His eyes were gentle and sad.

"Hey!" Schuldig called to them. "You're ruining the mood here!"

Yohji was looking at them now, and his expression had gone dark and angry. He met Aya's eyes only briefly before looking back to the enemy team.

Kenshin touched Aya's arm again.

"This one will fight in your stead," he offered.

"_You_ - ?"

"This one will not kill," he added quickly. "But he _will_ prove sufficient back up for your team. If you agree to let Kaoru take you inside, and also agree not to place yourself in unnecessary danger or further harm yourself in any other way, then this one will fight for you."

"Kenshin…" Kaoru began doubtfully.

He continued to smile gently, so much like Aya's sister that for a moment – a small, yet no less important, moment – Aya found himself willing to believe anything the small man told him.

"I won't go inside," he said at last.

"But you will not try to fight?"

Aya hesitated, but a glance at Yohji's rigid back decided him.

"I won't," he promised. If he fought, he realized suddenly, Yohji would do something stupid and get them _both_ injured, more likely than not.

Kenshin smiled.

"So nice to have all that resolved. Now – where were we?" Schuldig growled. The telepath's expression was wild, feral, and vicious. It was a reckless, self-destructive, _dangerous_ expression and Aya, as his ancestor carefully helped him lower himself back down onto the porch, felt suddenly certain that Weiss _wouldn't_ be fighting Schuldig once Esset was dealt with.

That expression made Aya almost certain that, when the dust cleared, Schuldig may not still be alive.

* * *

Tbc

Ah Schu…my sweet, sweet Schu…


	27. Chapter 26: Ties of Trust

Sorry for the wait. Not as bad as the last wait though, ne? Love and thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter. It means the world to me.

Buckle in, kiddies. The whole world is about to change.

Chapter 26

Ties of Trust

* * *

Hollister was a wild dog hunting in the night, hungry for violence. His eyes gleamed as he raised them to Schuldig's face and the telepath knew, absolutely _knew_, that one of them was going to have to die.

Because he did _not_ want to survive to fall into Hollister's hands again.

"Such a glutton for punishment," Hollister chuckled. His laugh was the kind a man gave in the bedroom, when he was made utterly and completely sure of his dominance. "Very well, Schuldig. I'll give you the lashing you beg for. I'll even play by your rules. What better way to teach you once and for all what you were never smart enough to learn on your own."

Schuldig lifted his chin proudly.

"And what," he asked, "_Exactly_, is _that_?"

Hollister reached up and began to unbutton his jacket. "How _low_ a creature you really are!"

"Ah!" and here Schuldig laughed. Even to him it was a low, bitter, and somewhat frightening sound. "It's not that I never figured that out, Arrow. It's just that I don't _care_."

"Trash!" and Hollister laughed, too, making a motion to his people with a negligent gesture. "Have your fun with Weiss, so long as you don't kill the target…and leave the whore to me."

"Do you mean me, or Balinese?" Schuldig quipped.

He could feel his smile, feel it grow from 'that expression' that meant he was about to get himself in trouble to something far, far worse. The bastard could call him whatever the hell he wanted to, because they were going to be some of the last words he ever spole. Schuldig would see him dead, even if he had to crawl into the grave with him.

He didn't have anything left to lose, anyway.

Balinese, beside him, gave a laugh at his little joke, and he saw the man glance back at Abyssinian – though whether to gauge his response or to check on him again, it wasn't clear. Ink took the glaring opportunity of the blonde's distraction to attack.

It wasn't his Talent playing tricks, because Schuldig was already watching for that, but the actual skill of years of practice that allowed the man to draw his sword so quickly.

More surprising than the fact that Ink had any real skill, however, was the fact that Kenshin, suddenly, was simple _there_, in front of Kudoh, protecting him, his own sword in his hand as if he had been holding it all along.

"This one will be your opponent," he offered softly. "Even without the aid of Hiten Mitsurugi, this one will prove a more than apt opponent."

Ink's eyes flickered to Kudoh's face, and it was clear that he would have preferred to finish his business with the blonde – business left unfinished by Schuldig's own interference.

"This one assures you," Kenshin said, "That you will find this battle most satisfactory."

"It'll be like killing Abyssinian twice!" Ink decided with a nod.

"I'm not dead," Abyssinian stated.

"Yet!" Ink's sword broke contact with Himura's. A small smirk was his only warning before he abruptly changed course, darting at the violet eyed assassin standing off to the side, clearly intent on making good on his statement.

Unarmed and injured, Abyssinian had no way of defending himself. Balinese launched his wire in his direction, but he was already caught up in the spell of Ink's 'Talent' and his attack fell far short.

Kenshin again seemed to appear from nowhere, simply materializing between the weapon's master and his target, blade up and blocking perfectly, eyes serious.

And unlike Ink, he _wasn't _relying on mind tricks.

He simple was _that good_.

Shadow and Hue, moving as if two parts of a single being, swept in on Siberian and Bombay. They, like Crawford, had been trained in various martial arts styles in order to compensate for their lack of sufficiently offensive powers.

Unlike Crawford, the two also each possessed very strong healing abilities. When Siberian's claws managed to slash into Hue's face, the wound closed almost immediately.

As the battles around them grew heated, Schuldig found himself and Hollister trapped, separated, in a stillness all their own. Their mutual hate set them apart, in a world of their own. Nothing else seemed as sharp or as real.

"Well, Schuldig?" Hollister asked, tossing his jacket away.

They circled each other like dancers, completely disconnected from the chaos around them. Hollister's code name of Arrow was no fluke - his Talent was an extremely specialized form of telekinesis that gave him impossibly accurate aim and speed. It made him a very dangerous opponent. Schuldig's speed was comparable, but useless if he couldn't get in close. Firing his gun would only give the man something else to fire back at him, and his telepathy would only smack uselessly against his shields.

"I won't kill you," Hollister promised.

"You had fucking better," Schuldig growled.

Ink had drawn a second blade, and was fighting Himura and Balinese at once. Shadow and Hue had Siberian and Bombay trapped back to back defending each other as they tried to find an opening. Hollister began to reach into his pocket for a projectile, and Schuldig charged.

From close quarters, even the infamous "Arrow" would have trouble landing a hit, and he had never witnessed Schuldig's own speed first hand. The telepath had _that_, at least, to his advantage, and knew the risk had been worth it as he saw the surprise flicker in Hollister's eyes, watched him, too late, raise a hand to launch a marble at him.

Schuldig was too close for it to gain the kind of speed it would need to do any kind of real damage, although it was a testament to Hollister's powers that the small glad ball would definitely leave a bruise. Schuldig dropped his gun and used his fist to inflict his damage, taking pleasure in the feel of Hollister's teeth cutting against his knuckles, as well as in the man's surprised grunt of pain.

Hollister's fist tried to connect with his gut, but Schuldig didn't notice as he closed his hands around the bastard's neck.

A gunshot rang out, distracting Schuldig just enough. Hollister punched him hard in the jaw, sending him sprawling. He scrambled for his discarded gun and, still on the ground, turned to aim at his foe.

Hollister had a marble positioned, and was aiming down at him. From a far enough distance, the man could get any projectile to have enough momentum to go completely through a human body as smoothly as any bullet. He wasn't far enough for that, but there was now definitely enough distance for him to be capable of causing very serious injury.

He smiled slowly, and took aim at Schuldig's knee. The telepath wondered if he could fire his gun before the man could launch his projectile.

Another shot fired, but not from Schuldig.

"Enough!"

It was Crawford, coming in through the front gate with Nagi and Farfarello at his heels. He lowered his gun slowly as he took in the mess of the courtyard, the fighters frozen mid-attack.

"Oh…" Schuldig panted, trying to use the lull to catch his breath. "Hello _Vater_…"

He ignored him as if he no longer existed and Schuldig knew, absolutely knew, that he would not have an easy time convincing his leader to forgive him this time.

"I would never have expected such a breach of protocol from _you_, Aaron," Crawford said softly. "A change in plan should be discussed with the entire unit first – unless you are now in a position above our laws?"

"Not at all," Hollister reassured him. "Merely seeing to the execution of a traitor."

Schuldig had risen, and he paused in the act of brushing himself off, eyes going to Crawford.

The man's expression was cold.

"I would offer to kill him myself, but it would hardly resolve our conflict," he stated. "Esset's private affairs should hardly be handled in the presence of Krittiker agents."

"What does it matter what they hear? The kitties won't be leaving the past alive."

Crawford spread his hands.

"Consider it a flaw of the personal nature," he said, smooth and cool. "I simply find any opening for weakness…distasteful."

Hollister stared at him a moment before giving a thoughtful nod. "Well," he drawled slowly, "I see no need for that – as long as none who considers himself an enemy of Esset survives this day. If you like, I will even grant _you_ the honor of performing Schuldig's execution."

"Brad!" Schuldig was outraged; his leader looked as if he was actually _considering _the offer! Had losing his visions caused the man to also lose his ability to _think_?

Crawford's gaze didn't flicker Schuldig's way for even a moment.

"I thought you wanted to keep him alive," the precog stated. His lips twisted humorlessly. "You know, for…_sentimental_ reasons?"

"In honor of our friendship, I would gladly make nearly any sacrifice," the blonde answered with a smile.

Crawford returned the expression, and it looked honest. Schuldig could count the times he'd seen a smile like that on his leader's face on one hand, and still have fingers left over. The sight of it now terrified him.

Weiss, he noticed, was slowly encircling them. Abyssinian had even managed to get hold of one of the wooden practice swords, despite his promise to Himura, and had moved into position along with his team – clearly in pain, yet clearly determined.

Schuldig had kept his mind locked up tightly since he had become Hollister's prisoner – not only seeking to protect himself from the man's mind, but also to protect his pride – to keep himself from accidentally transmitting his own darkness into the minds of the others.

He carefully unraveled a bit of his power now, sending it out gently into the minds of the Weiss. Abyssinian's mind was a raging beast of fire – pain, fury, worry. He would resort to _anything_ to question even _one_ of them about his sister's whereabouts. He cared for her even more than for his own injuries.

Weiss was as good as Schuldig had always assumed. They didn't have a set system, or anything like telepathic powers, but they were communicating soundlessly nonetheless through glances and subtle hand motions. They had worked together too long, knew each other too well, for any of them to have any question of the meaning. Schuldig silently began to ease himself backwards, entering their circle, hoping as he did so that Kudoh's promise of payback still held true. He hoped that, if necessary, their protection of each other would extend to include him.

"Execute Schuldig for the traitor he is, kill Weiss where they stand, and there is no one less to bear witness to our troubles but for those whose testimony will not matter." Hollister played with the marbles in his hand, clearly yearning to launch one. "Once we return home with the target, it won't matter that a group of no-ones from the past witnessed a little brotherly squabble, now will it?"

"Crawford," Nagi stepped up, distrustful gaze locked on the other Esset team. "We need Weiss! Don't you remember?"

"We need them a hell of a lot more than we need _that_ sick fuck!" Schuldig agreed, jerking his chin toward Hollister. Farfarello was getting impatient for action – the madman had begun to hum, swaying softly.

"Pretty…" Farfarello said. "I bet he bleeds pretty."

"I bet you're right!" Schuldig agreed enthusiastically. Crawford finally looked at him, but his expression remained disturbingly thoughtful. "Meanwhile, _I_ don't bleed pretty at all, do I, Farf?"

He shook his head. "Clashes," he stated dismissively, sounding almost disappointed. Farfarello would not attack Schuldig when there were other, _better_ bleeders present, and it was best that Crawford be reminded of that.

"Anyway," Schuldig tossed his head, "You need _me_, too!"

"Do I?" he asked softly.

Schuldig felt it like a physical blow, actually staggered in pain, when Crawford's personal shields came down over his link with Schwarz – not just blocking, but _severing_ Schuldig from the rest of the team.

Of course, there was no other telepath to hold the bindings in place. They snapped, like broken support cords on an old bridge, and back-lashed back into the rest of the team. Crawford looked shocked, even frightened, of the results of his own actions as Nagi stumbled and gasped in pain.

Schuldig felt his knees hit the ground. Thick blood seeped slowly from his nose.

And the pain, the surprise of the absence of the rest of the team in his mind, was too much for the already-frayed Farfarello. With an animalistic growl, he launched himself at Shadow – the operative nearest him.

And Hollister, eyes full of sick satisfaction, took advantage of the sudden chaos to aim his projectile once more at Schuldig.

Nagi was using his powers to pull Farfie back. Weiss was closing in, hesitant, but following Abyssinian's lead. Shadow fell to the ground, eyes staring lifelessly.

And unnoticed by all but Hollister in the sudden storm, blood blossomed at Schuldig's throat.

* * *

tbc

(Authoress whistles innocently). Ah…I realize that this may be an even worse cliffie than usual. I'll try not to take to long with the next one…

Remember, reviews encourage me to get to it more quickly. Just saying…

Response to unsigned reviews:

^^ - hmm…I can't really answer that yet, can I? I mean, in light of the current chapter? Thanks for the review. I love Schwarz too. (Really? After this chapter? Yes. Yes, I do.)

Thanks again everyone.


	28. Chapter 27: Loss

Chapter 27

Loss

* * *

"So…you gonna die on us, or what?"

He blinked blearily at the pretty face hovering above his own, his vision returning slowly.

"Where did you get…bubblegum?" was the only thing he could think to ask.

The blonde grinned broadly down at him, popping said gum loudly. "The kid smuggled some in," he said, motioning with a jerk of his head toward a corner of the room removed from his line of vision. "So? You dying, or what?"

"Am I?"

"Nah – I don't think you are. Aside from being pretty damn hot, Ms. Megumi seems to know what she's talkin' about when she says whether or not someone's gonna live." Balinese reached out to help as he tried to sit up. "Slowly now," he cautioned.

There was surprisingly little pain when he moved, and he wondered if that was because he wasn't injured as badly as he'd thought, or if it was just because they'd given him painkillers.

"Mostly it's just good drugs," Balinese informed him with another grin.

"_Schiesse_," Schuldig groaned. "I'm projecting?"

"Just a little. Nasty, _dirty_ dreams you have when you're unconscious," satisfied that Schuldig was all right sitting up on his own, Balinese sat back.

"You…captured me?"

"Accidentally."

He blinked slowly at the blonde.

"How do you 'accidentally' capture someone?"

"They abandoned you," Bombay stated.

The youngest Weiss was in direct contrast to his teammate. Whereas Balinese was deceptively relaxed and at ease, Bombay was stiff and wary, watching Schuldig as if suspecting that he was about to grow fangs and bite one of them. He had one of his poison darts out, ready to strike should his enemy make a wrong move.

"Schwarz?" he asked.

"Schwarz, Esset," Bombay's eyes were icy. "Everyone. _We_ thought you were dead."

"Lucky for you, you groaned when Ken tried to pick you up," Balinese continued to grin.

Schuldig closed his eyes, searching for his link with Schwarz. Of course it was gone, nothing in its place but a throbbing, raw sore. No wonder he was projecting.

"Megumi thinks it was mostly just shock," Balinese said. "That thing the blonde guy shot at you just grazed your throat – didn't hit anything important, though, just bled a lot.

His hand rose to check the bandages at his throat, but it was an absent gesture. Schuldig's real concern was piecing his shields back together. He had been connected to Schwarz for so long that the gaping absence of the link made him feel…lost.

The door slid open loudly.

"Where is she?"

"Aya," Balinese rose quickly to his feet. "You're supposed to be resting until Megumi can check your stitches."

Abyssinian ignored his teammate. He was limping – his injuries and the exertion of the day having clearly taken their tole. Balinese moved quickly to help support him, ignoring his team leader's obvious annoyance at his actions.

"My sister!" the smaller man snarled. "Where is my sister?"

"Aya…"

"No! Yohji - !" and it was clear Schuldig had been right earlier when he had guessed the two eldest men of Weiss cared for each other. Even struggling against him, Abyssinian's body was clearly taking some instinctual sort of comfort from contact with Balinese. Abyssinian's eyes looked at his teammate as if the blonde's agreement was the only thing in the world that mattered. "He knows where they've taken her! Now's our chance!"

"Of course we're gonna get him to tell us," Balinese assured him, "But now's not the time, sweetheart."

Abyssinian looked at his teammate, and for a moment it was as if he believed him with all his heart. He _trusted_ him.

"I'll tell you where she is," Schuldig agreed, if only to make that disgusting look go away.

Abyssinian's eyes fixed on him once again, intense, like a cat tracking a mouse.

Schuldig smirked slowly.

"Your sister," he said, "Is in the future. With Esset. And completely beyond your reach."

Abyssinian stared at him for a long moment, then he _moved_.

For an injured man, he was impressive. He managed to wrench out of his lover's hold and propel himself across the room. His hands closed around Schuldig's neck, his thumbs pressing into his jugular.

Schuldig nearly lost consciousness before Bombay and Balinese managed to pry the hissing Abyssinian off of him.

* * *

"There," Yohji said softly, sitting back on his heels. "That should hold you."

Aya stared at him, eyes vibrantly violet, incredibly intense, and heartbreakingly hurt. Yohji found he had to look away, lest he be lost.

"Is this," the redhead demanded coldly, "Really necessary?"

"Omi was the one who threatened to tie you up if you tore out another stitch," Yohji tried to keep his voice light, but found it difficult with Aya looking at him that way. "I'm just following the kid's orders. He's desperate that you stop hurting yourself and start healing. Have to say I don't entirely disagree…"

Aya shifted a little, testing his new restraints. Yohji had left him plenty of slack to move, but he was going to have to be released if he needed to get up for anything. He shot his lover a flat, displeased glare, and Yohji laughed.

"I'll talk to the kid, okay? I'm sure he was just angry when he told me to tie you up. He'll take it back once he realizes how ridiculous it is." Still Aya failed to look placated. Yohji reached to brush hair out of the man's eyes, and nearly lost his hand in the process. Despite himself, he laughed again. "Well, it's not like you can cut me off for this or anything," he decided. "It's not like I've been getting any sex lately anyway."

"You'll never get any again!" Aya growled.

"We both know you don't mean that!" Yohji leaned in – cautiously – to brush a kiss against his cheek and Aya jerked violently away.

"You're going to bleed for this," the small man promised.

Yohji's smile slipped. "I don't like it any more than you do," he said. "It's disrespectful and unfair…and pointless if I can't even have my way with you while you're so cute and helpless…"

"Kudoh!"

"But Omi scares me a hell of a lot more than you do," he finished. "And you hurting yourself because you're an idiot and refuse to stay in bed…well, that scares me more."

"Don't talk to me like that."

"Like you…worry…" he glared.

"Are we still using that euphemism?" Yohji rolled his eyes. "I think I've given you more than enough time to get used to the idea of me loving – okay!" he amended at an even fiercer glare, "_Worrying_ about you!"

"You don't worry," he stated. "You only think you do."

Yohji looked away for a long moment, mumbling something along the lines of "_shouldn't_ worry," and Aya glared even more dangerously.

Yohji moved suddenly. He couldn't actually sit on Aya, due to the danger of making his injuries worse, but, supporting himself on his hands and knees above Aya's body, hovering over him, not touching, but close, he might as well have been.

"Arguing with me doesn't do _shit_," he said, fighting his rising anger. Anger, he knew, was just what Aya _wanted_. "Denial doesn't change a damned thing."

Aya stared up at him, and for once his face was easy to read. He was surprised; Yohji had struck a nerve and they both knew it. To Yohji, he looked like a frightened child.

"We'll get him to tell us where to find Aya-chan, I promise," Yohji said softly, reassuring him once again. "Whatever it takes – _whatever_, Aya – I will personally make sure he tells us, okay? But you have to remember…even if he told us everything right now, there's nothing we can do about it while we're stuck here in the past. That bastard was right about that much, wasn't he?"

Aya only stared at him. Yohji leaned down to rest his forehead against Aya's.

"And if you hurt yourself before we get to go home, how will you be able to help her?"

"Don't talk to me like 'm an idiot."

"I know you hate it, but you can't control this situation," Yohji continued as if the other man hadn't spoken. "Just like you can't control the fact that I love you."

Aya was weakening. He'd grown too accustomed to allowing Yohji to comfort him, and so his defenses weren't as good as they'd once been. And he _wanted_ to trust in Yohji – it was the reason he'd ever invited him into his bed in the first place.

Yohji let his lips brush Aya's and carefully lowered himself down beside him in the bed. Settling at his lover's side, he kissed him again, deeply yet softly, letting his hand come to rest on the top of Aya's stomach, just above his stitches.

"Does it really hurt to let me love you?" he asked. "We both need it so badly…"

"Yohji…"

The door opened loudly and Yohji sat up too quickly, like a child who had been caught doing something he knew he shouldn't.

"That's it!" Omi said loudly. "_You're_ taking that bastard!"

Yohji glanced down at Aya, then back at the youngest Weiss. "Huh?" he asked intelligently.

Omi moved out of the way and Ken followed him into the room, hauling a very unconscious Schuldig. The athlete paused at the sight of Yohji sitting in the bed with the still-tied-up Aya, and went pink.

"What's going on?" Aya demanded, before Yohji had the chance to tease the blushing brunette.

"Consider it your punishment for breaking your stitches."

"I thought being tied up was my punishment," he stated with dangerous coldness.

"They're _both_ your punishment!" Omi crossed his arms. "I'm not putting up with that…that evil bastard for another minute!"

"What happened?" Yohji asked.

"He…said…things…" Omi answered. Apparently, it was his turn to blush.

Aya's eyes were fixed on Schuldig as Ken propped him up against a wall and began to set up another bed. "So…" he asked slowly, "You punched him out?"

"Weiss is really trying to make friends today, aren't we?" Yohji mumbled.

"_Kaoru_ punched him out," Omi corrected.

"_Kaoru?_"

"He…said…_things_!"

"You wanted to question him anyway," Ken pointed out, grunting with the effort it took to haul the telepath onto the new bed.

Aya nodded sharply. "Fine," he said, voice steel, "But tell this idiot to untie me."

Omi frowned for a moment, but he knew better than to pass up the rare opportunity of an Aya willing to bargain.

"You have to promise not to get out of bed without permission from me, Kenshin, or Megumi," the teen decided.

"I won't get out of bed _alone_ without permission," he said. "With help, I can do whatever the hell I want."

"So you can just convince Yotan to help if you want to do something stupid?" Omi thought about it, then apparently decided it was better than nothing. He gave a nod. "All right, fine. Untie him, Yotan."

"We should tie up Schuldig instead," Ken suggested.

"Smarter than tying _me_ up," Aya growled.

"_Kaoru_ punched him out?" Yohji asked again.

"That bastard. Said. Things."

Yohji watched Ken bind up the telepath, working quickly as the flame haired man began to stir with a moan. Ken was definitely being far less kind with him than Yohji had been with Aya.

The thought caused him to look down at his lover. Aya's face had closed off into a private, thoughtful expression and, whatever he was pondering, it kept him too distracted to notice Yohji's gaze.

Yohji allowed his eyes to freely roam the beautiful face of the man he had come to love. Those sharp violet eyes – so intelligent, so dangerous, so wonderfully expressive…those eyes could have all too easily been closed forever, were it not for the actions of that annoyingly cheeky bastard of a telepath. No matter that Yohji knew the German's motives had been far from true – Aya was alive right now because of him. Yohji couldn't just let something like that go.

The door opened and closed quietly and Yohji looked up. Kenshin bore more resemblance to his descendant than ever with his expression so dark and closed off as he observed the occupants of the room.

"That's too fucking tight!" Schuldig complained. He was still not quite all the way awake, and so his struggles against Ken looked more like the squirming of a five year old. "You're cutting off my circulation!"

"How's Kaoru?" Yohji asked, raising his voice above the telepath's whining.

"This one's wife only requires a little time in which to calm herself," he stated softly, crossing the room. Omi and Ken moved out of the way when he approached Schuldig – but rather than take the shots the flame haired man definitely deserved, the small swordsman simply checked his bindings and, upon finding them every bit as tight at the man had complained, began to loosen them.

"What are you doing?" Ken demanded, trying to stop him.

Kenshin pushed his hands away gently yet firmly. "This house still belongs to the Kamiya name. This roof will not be tainted by a lack of control in one's anger…" satisfied that the bindings were no longer hurting the telepath, Kenshin sat back on his heels and looked to the men of Weiss. "This one is here to insist that your enemy's life is under his protection."

"We aren't going to kill him until after he tells us where to find Aya's sister," Omi informed him, looking far too innocent to be discussing murder – and in front of the intended victim, no less. "Much as we would like to hurry up and rid the world of him – and trust us when we say the world would be better off – I promise you don't have anything to worry about right now."

"Aww…" Schuldig tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a rasping cough, his throat having encountered too much trauma recently. "Little Bombay…trying to threaten me! Soooo cute!"

"This one's protection extends to any…'questioning'…you might choose to partake in as well."

Weiss exchanged glances. Aya was the first to realize what he was talking about, and for a moment, he actually looked interested. Yohji felt a chill run down his spine at the hungry look on his lover's face.

"Aya…"

Schuldig was more successful at his attempt to laugh this time. "Oh! Oh, don't _tease_ me, Aby-cat! You're gonna make me hard!"

"Perverted son of a - !"

"This one merely wished to make you aware that he has chosen to protect your…prisoner." Kenshin looked slightly sick, having just realized that he may have accidentally put an idea in his descendant's head that hadn't been there before. Not for the first time Yohji found himself wondering just _how_ dark and bloody and twisted the man's past really was.

It was Schuldig who broke the tense moment.

"Don't worry, they wouldn't want to play with me, anyway," the telepath informed them, stretching out his long legs and shifting in his restraints as if he were there of his own volition. His expression was nothing less than naughty as he watched them through the long tangle of his bangs. "I've been told I enjoy the rough stuff _far_ too much for it to be effective."

A low growl issued from Aya's throat, and Yohji felt suddenly certain that, were it not for his injuries and his overwhelming desire to find his sister, Aya would have already killed the bastard.

"This is gonna be a _long_ night," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

The flat, humorless glare bore into him as if the man was trying to set him on fire with his mind – a Talent which Nagi was more than thankful Bradley Crawford did _not_ possess.

The room was silent, split in two by an invisible barrier. On one side, a red and fuming Hollister and what remained of his team. On the other, Schwarz – sans telepath.

It was like a nightmare. Schuldig, branded a traitor, cut off from the rest of the team, and _abandoned_. Nagi's head was still pounding from the shock of the severed connection, and Farfarello now had to be kept drugged to an almost lethal level.

Farf had snapped when the connection had broken, and he had slaughtered Shadow. The murder of a fellow member of Esset would brand him a traitor alongside Schuldig. Worse, Schuldig was hurt, maybe even _dying_ and they had just _left_ him in the hands of their enemies.

And Crawford was mad at _Nagi_ because he hadn't made sure Schuldig died before they left. Nagi should have finished him off himself if there was even any question of his survival, according to Crawford. It was standard Esset protocol to take whatever action necessary to keep an operative from falling into enemy hands, and Nagi had failed to see it done.

If Schuldig lived, Nagi could very well be the next member of Schwarz to be accused of betraying his employees.

"We…will have to go after him again," Hollister said, breaking the silence at last. He had been the one to call off the attack, ordering their retreat the moment he realized that Shadow was dead. He still held what remained of her body in his lap, gathered up in an old sheet. His gaze fixed on Crawford, and there was little sanity left in his pale eyes."All of Weiss, and now Schuldig. Your interference has certainly added many names to my hit list."

Crawford only grunted.

Hollister rose slowly, holding the bloody bundle close to his chest.

"This," he said, motioning with it, "Should provide adequate notice of war when they find it decorating their lovely dojo. Have your men ready to attack in a week's time."

"A week?"

He handed the bundle to Ink, murmuring an order to take it to the dojo and take care not to be seen. As the man hurried to obey, he fixed his gaze once more on Crawford.

"A fair warning before their complete annihilation," he stated. "I want the memory of their deaths to be an enjoyable one."

Nagi waited until Hollister and Hue left before daring to speak.

"Crawford?"

"He has ruined everything."

"Schuldig? Or Hollister?"

He didn't answer. After several long moments, he rose and began to cross the room. He stopped on his way out, staring at Farfarello's mumbling, drooling form. They had pumped him with enough drugs to take out an elephant, and _still_ he wasn't completely out.

"Make sure you put him to bed," Crawford ordered, then left.

Nagi rolled his eyes to the ceiling and wondered how the hell he was going to be able to deal with the homicidal psychopath _without_ the help of his telepathic friend.

* * *

tbc

Bah. You didn't really think I would kill Schu, did you? I could never bring myself to do it! For the record, there's two things I could never do to Schu, even though I've had some pretty awesome ideas that would involve either or both. One is kill him. The other is make him completely evil. These are impossible for me.

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

Cherokee - Ah Inferno...I enjoyed that one to a worrying degree. Anyway, hope the wait wasn't too bad. Thanks for reading!

Thanks again everyone!


	29. Chapter 28: Leverage

Apologies to you all for skipping over this fic in my last few rounds of updates. I have neither forgotten nor abandoned you.

Chapter 28

Leverage

* * *

It was that look in his eyes. Dark, focused inward – Aya Fujimiya was locked away deeply within his own mind, traversing tortuous twists and turns that few others would have had the courage to face. Even his lover, watching him as intently as he was, could not begin to comprehend the depths of self-inflicted pain the smaller man was no doubt forcing himself to endure.

A task equally daunting to _understanding_, however, was finding a way to help his lover find his way back from the darkness.

Yohji never should have told him he loved him.

It was an odd feeling – sad, but distant – as he watched the face of his lover. He knew he was unhappy, and something within him wanted desperately to take the blame. Sickly, he wanted to believe Aya's unhappiness was due only to him. That his love was the reason.

He was used to taking that kind of blame, after all. He'd been blamed for his parents' divorce, his grandmother's death, the fact his father couldn't control his drinking. He'd blamed himself for Asuka's death, and for the fact he hadn't been able to find a way to save Neu.

It was easy to believe Aya's misery was his fault, too. After all, he'd broken the rules. He had fallen in love.

"Don't light that."

Yohji didn't respond, but he lowered the cigarette from his lips unlit.

He'd hoped to be able to earn, at the very least, a _smile_ from his lover today. He'd woken _sinfully_ early in order to find Omi and get 'permission' to take Aya out of their room. He'd wanted to surprise Aya with a fun, relaxing day. To take his mind, if only for a moment, off of Schuldig, of Esset, of Kenshin, and off of Aya-chan.

And then they had found the body of the Esset operative Farfarello had killed decorating the dojo, and Yohji knew his chance was lost.

Initially, they'd helped with the clean up. Then Omi noticed how pale the exertion was making Aya, and ordered them to leave – Yohji, as well, so that someone could 'keep an eye' on the man and keep him from getting into any more or his indulgently destructive brand of trouble.

As far as Yohji could tell, they had been sitting out on the porch, silent, Aya's head pillowed on Yohji's lap, for the better part of an hour.

Yohji wanted to blame himself for the look in Aya's eyes as he gazed unseeingly at nothing – because at least if it was his fault, then they would have some little clue as to how to resolve the problem.

It had taken teasing and goading to convince Aya to rest his head in his lap, but the man hadn't moved an inch since then.

At least he had finally broken the silence.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Yohji asked softly, brushing hair away from that lovely face.

Those eyes, so intently fixed on nothing for so long, closed. Aya's hand rose, but rather than bat away Yohji's touch, as the blonde had been expecting, he held the other man's hand trapped against his face.

"Nothing," he answered.

"Liar."

Aya didn't answer for several long moments. At last, when Yohji realized he wasn't going to be pushes away, he began to slowly trail his fingers though his lover's soft hair.

"We'll have to remember to thank Kenshin later," he said. The small swordsman had offered to guard Schuldig for them today, giving Weiss time for other things. Yohji was particularly thankful for their host's generosity [ he was convinced that leaving Aya in that room with Schuldig would have only made matters worse.

Aya only grunted at him.

Yohji fell silent, continuing to run his fingers through his lover's hair. He would enjoy this far more, he reflected, if Aya wasn't so clearly miserable.

"How are your wounds feeling?"

"Kudoh…"

"I'm not being overprotective! I'm just…ah…curious."

Aya opened his eyes. He gazed up at Yohji for a long, silent moment. "You…honestly care, Yohji?"

"Yeah. I told you I did." Yohji's hand paused as he gazed down at the man he loved.

"Hn…" Aya grew silent once again.

"Aya…"

"Don't…" he closed his eyes again. "Don't leave."

There was something suddenly so very young about Aya. Vulnerable, childlike. Yohji realized that, while the small man may not yet be in love with him, he was nevertheless committed to their strange little relationship. Yohji had known from the beginning of their arrangement that Aya _depended_ on him, but somehow the need he saw in the man now was…different.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

Silence passed for several more moments. At last, Aya opened his eyes once more, and Yohji helped him as he began to try to sit up.

"Yohji…I need to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"Hn," he nodded, expression stubbornly determined.

Yohji smiled, reaching out to brush hair out of his lover's eyes once more. This, he liked to think, was the real Aya. This was the Aya that too few people got to know.

Quietly needy, carefully trusting, strong willed, but vulnerable, too. How could he _not_ have fallen in love with him?

"Thank me for what?" Yohji asked, wondering how long this sweetness would last.

Aya leaned his back against the wall and crossed his arms as if cold. "I know that I've lost any right to be in my sister's life if…_when_ she wakes…" he stated quietly, eyes focused inward. "If you hadn't stopped me yesterday…I would have done something that would have taken away the right to even _look_ at her."

"Aya…"

"You and Kenshin were right. If…_when_ we get home, we'll give Schuldig over to Krittiker. They can be the ones to taint their souls prying answers from that poisonous bastard. I won't let him help destroy more of me."

"Is this what you've been thinking about all day?"

"It gets so dark sometimes," Aya continued as if Yohji had not spoken. "So dark that I can't see anything beyond anger…that I can't even recognize myself as human anymore. Aya was the only light, but she's been so very far away for so very long…"

Yohji didn't know what to say to that, and so he remained silent. He wasn't even sure Aya had _meant_ to say that."

Several moments passed, then Aya shook himself, as if coming awake after a long sleep. He lifted his eyes slowly to Yohji's face.

"Now there's you," he stated.

"Me?"

He frowned. "Kenshin saw it before I did, but I know he was right."

"Kenshin?"

"He told me I could depend on you to keep me back from the darkness and the blood. Not in those words, but…" he looked away, hesitated. "I would like to use you for a little while longer."

"Aya…" Yohji shifted and moved toward him. Aya kept his eyes locked on him even as he leaned in close to brush a kiss against his lips. "I love you…and I tend to be the kind of guy to fight like hell for the ones I love."

"But I don't deserve that kind of thing."

"You think anyone does? If it makes you feel any better, I'm not exactly a 'good catch,' you know. Something about vices and addictions…"

"Yohji…"

He kissed him again, more passionately this time. At first, Aya resisted, but didn't take much before his eyes closed and he surrendered, parting his lips, leaning forward into him and letting his head fall back submissively.

Yohji groaned against his mouth, gathering him close, pulling him into his lap. He _missed_ this. He missed Aya's body, the taste and feel of his skin. He broke the kiss and pulled him even closer, burying his face against Aya's neck as he tried to calm his breathing and get control of himself.

"Sorry," he whispered. He could feel Aya trembling, and fervently hoped he hadn't hurt his injuries. "It's been too long. You _have_ to stop aggravating your wounds so you can heal."

"Hn." Aya shifted, merely snuggling closer.

"I think you're going o fall for me, Aya," Yohji stated, tilting his head back against the wall.

"Hn."

He chuckled softly, feeling, for the first time in far too long, purely happy. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he felt hope.

When they got home, they would give Schuldig over to Krittiker. Their employers would get from him the answers they needed, and Weiss would at last be able to rescue Aya's beloved little sister.

One day, one day very soon, Aya would be happy.

To Yohji, that was all that mattered.

Too soon, Aya began to stir. Disappointed, Yohji nonetheless hurried to help his lover stand.

"Done snuggling already?" Yohji asked, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

"We should be working, Kudoh." Aya gave a glare. Whatever softness there had been to him a moment ago was suddenly gone. The Aya the rest of the world knew was back, and it was if the other had never existed.

Glancing around the yard, Yohji realized what it was that had caused the sweet side of Aya to vanish so quickly. Omi and Ken, crusted with blood and dirt, were returning from the final step of the clean up process – burying the remains of the unfortunate Esset operative.

Ken was scowling. He'd made it no secret that he didn't think it was fair Yohji had been able to beg off helping by citing Aya as his excuse.

Frankly, Yohji was surprised _Aya_ had allowed him to get away with it.

"Well," Ken said sourly, "Look who's all well rested and relaxed!"

"Meeting," Aya snapped. "Now."

"Can we clean up first?"

Aya only grunted and began to walk away.

Yohji followed, surprised when Aya led him to the bedroom. Kenshin was sitting, calmly mending some laundry while Schuldig, sulking, slumped in his bed. Yohji noticed with a frown that their host had further loosened the bindings on their prisoner, giving the wicked telepath enough room to lay down or sit up, whichever he preferred. It also looked as if his wounds had been cleaned and rewrapped as well.

"Aya?"

He glanced at Yohji, then at Schuldig. He scowled.

"He would be able to spy on us anyway," he stated, coldly practical. "We might as well remain where we can keep an eye on him."

"Ah."

"Would you like for this one to leave, at least?" Kenshin offered.

Aya didn't answer, so Yohji shrugged. Kenshin remained where he was.

* * *

Balinese was sickly devoted, head-over-heels in love with Abyssinian. And Abyssinian, disgustingly enough, was rapidly falling into much the same state.

Schuldig was in a fucking bad mood. Stuck in that damn room all morning with no one to bother other than the impossible-to-annoy Himura, Schuldig was tired and sore and maybe a little frightened as well.

As far as he could tell, he wasn't projecting anymore, for which he was extremely grateful. Bad enough to see compassion on Himura's face as the swordsman had treated the wounds left over from his time as Hollister's prisoner. Worse if he had been broadcasting his memories.

The fear, though…that was the most annoying thing of all.

"We're meeting _here_?" Siberian demanded as he entered the room. Schuldig nearly laughed – the athletic kitty was _pissed_ that he'd had to spend the morning cleaning up a bloody and rapidly rotting mess while Weiss' resident lovebirds spent a relaxed and romantic afternoon together.

Abyssinian glared, unwilling to be forced to explain himself again.

Schuldig attempted a delicate touch as he stretched his powers further into the mind of the leader of Weiss – far enough to not only read the surface thoughts, but to be able to properly respond, as well.

_Do you expect absolute obedience, Abyssinian?_

That glare fixed on him, just as he had wanted – but it wasn't the only one.

Damn. He wasn't projecting anymore, but apparently his fine control was shit. He wondered how loudly he'd pumped the question into their heads.

"Loud enough, it seems," Kenshin stated, rubbing his head as if in pain.

"_Scheisse_!" Schuldig quickly reeled his powers back, clamping down on them tightly. He wasn't able to lock them up completely – wanting to have at least a minimal idea of the thoughts and emotions of his captors.

"Have I missed anything?" Bombay asked, entering the room.

"Bastard shouting in our heads. That's all," Balinese grumbled.

Bombay glanced at Schuldig with a small frown, hand drifting to the place where his darts were hidden.

One had to give the boy credit for his restraint. The youngest kitten was well trained and disciplined – he didn't need Himura's watchful gaze to encourage him to keep the peace. Even the most shallow of his surface thoughts made it clear he believed patience to be his greatest weapon at the moment.

"Sit down," Abyssinian ordered.

"You don't think anyone should be patrolling?" the youngest Weiss asked, glancing at the door as he followed the order.

"We have the one they want right here," he stated. Himura's wife and child should be in the freshly-cleaned dojo, the woman conducting classes with at least a dozen swordsman; the two of them should be relatively safe under such conditions. "We need to discuss a few things."

Bombay glanced, unsure, at Schuldig once more, but nodded. "Okay."

Abyssinian nodded, as if there had been absolutely no hesitation in his teammate, and fixed his stern, cold eyes on Schuldig.

"You're going to cooperate."

He could sound nearly as authoritative as Crawford, Schuldig thought, raising his eyebrows. Give him a few more years and he would make quite an impressive leader. Schuldig would have even been tempted to take him seriously, were he not so young and pretty…and were his heart not still so needy and vulnerable.

The telepath found his lips curving into a smile.

"Make me."

Surprise momentarily flickered across the man's pretty eyes – both due to his failure to intimidate him, and the childish nature of the response.

Then those eyes grew even colder.

"Your ancestor has placed his protection over me, pretty Aby-cat," Schuldig taunted. "What are you gonna do? Give me a time out?"

If anything, the man's eyes managed to narrow even further.

"Your team abandoned you to us," he stated. "They left you to our mercy."

"Ouch! You're going to hurt my feelings, Abyssinian."

"Do you think they're going to let us keep you for long?"

That stopped him for a moment. "Keep?"

The smaller redhead stared at him for a long moment, possibly attempting to intimidate him. His most basic of surface thoughts were carefully blank.

"_Krittiker_ wouldn't allow an agent to remain long in enemy hands. I can only imagine Esset would be the same," he stated. "We've agreed not to kill you, but Kenshin's protection can't extend to cover your own agents."

"Ah! You're right, Ayan!" Bombay perked up immediately. "I hadn't thought about that!"

Abyssinian nodded once, sharply. "And there's little point in going out of my way to protect someone who's decided to be completely useless to me."

He was completely serious – and Himura wasn't jumping in to contradict them. Siberian was actually considering finding a way to 'help' Esset find him.

Schuldig felt a cold chill.

"We're going to be attacked more ruthlessly than ever, once they realize you're alive," Abyssinian continued. "Keeping Kenshin and my team alive and out of harm's way is much more important than protecting someone who won't talk."

"Well, damn!" Balinese laughed, lighting a cigarette and looking at Schuldig with a grin. "Sounds like you're screwed."

* * *

tbc

Again, apologies for the long wait between chapters. I'm trying to implement an updating schedule that agrees with my new job. Your patience is, as always, love.


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